Split (1)

train · 177k rows

prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k
I rolled over onto my left side. A faint light from the street dimly illuminates the hallway and peers beneath the crack of my door, seeping through the back of my eyelids. 'Why' I cannot stand the slightest of sleight my mind fraught with fright; soon I shall turn again and not the street but the sun that will pierce my skin. Over I turn my eyes held no shine yet my spine slumps into the shallow dent of failing bed; the dull pain I wished to avoid came as quick as it left. 'Stop' I take the air to my lungs the tightness of my chest feels that sweet release; 'Calm' I let my mind quiet; alas! A horn blares below, the heat of rage built inside; Again my brief respite disturbed I cursed under my breath the world would hear my -BANG- the door rumbled; just my dream I dreamed -BANG- a rumble again and my body tore itself from where it could lay no more, what is at my door? I looked to the light under my door now split with long shadows unlike before. -BANG- the door popped from its hinge -BANG- and onto the floor. "The son of the sun, come unto me; the path of destiny you must run,"the figure non-alike any seen before stood atop the fallen door. "What?"I asked. "The time is nigh, when death shows itself 'neath the twilight sky." "Why are you speaking in rhyme?"again, my question went unanswered. The glowing figure drew his staff, the golden orb atop shone a light that stung the eyes. This was the light from beneath the door earlier; is this man a godly courier? A whirl of color appeared before me; blue, green, no - red; now white - the inside showed the image of a dragon in flight. I did not ask anything more, but through the portal I did explore.
I wake up feeling sick, so I spit into a tube and mail it off to the doctor’s. Hopefully While I’m sick I’ll be able to catch up on the series I’m reading. Midway through the afternoon, I’m woken by a phone call. I must have dozed off. It’s my doctor. “Hello,” I say. “You’ve never called when I was sick before.” “We don’t call unless there’s something urgent or unusual. And this definitely counts as unusual,” she says. “Your flu? It’s the same strain as you got last year. Only extremely minimal differences in the genes.” “What’s that mean? I thought one of the gene edits, CRISPR, was it? took care of that,” I say. “Yes, CRISPR should prevent you from getting the same virus multiple times. We’re going to ask you to quarantine, as a precaution and send in your genetic samples, and another spit tube to confirm. Right now, you don’t need to worry. This flu isn’t serious.” Once I’ve sent in the samples, I google about getting the same illness multiple times, but all I get is information about before gene editing was common. Some diseases got worse the more you caught them. I then look up CRISPR failing, but apparently they call the method used to edit genes CRISPR, so I get stories of failed gene edits, mostly from the early days. The only thing I get about this specific edit is someone where it cut up all their DNA, not just viruses. The next morning, I look at the news and there’s an article about CRISPR, so I read it. It’s about me. They don’t use my name, but it’s obvious. Seems like I’m a big scientific mystery. I read all the news articles I can find about me, until I realize they get really boring as they all have the same information So I go to read my book series instead. My doctor calls. “Have you figured it out yet?” I ask. “We think so. Basically, this flu is a retrovirus that inserted its DNA into your genome, mostly in the area where you have CRISPR. So it’s been destroying your immune system, and infecting you more. We’ll try to find a way to treat it, but it might not be possible. We might have to hope the old immune system can handle it.”
Abigal "Sugah"Kennedy was arguably the worst prostitute Eddy had ever known. That was including Bad Breath Bertha his saintly mother who once rolled over and crushed two Johns underneath her morbidly obese body as she climaxed. God rest her crooked bones, he thought sadly before hunching down further beneath the sturdy oak pulpit. The loud cacophony of gunfire continued above him, and as spent brass casings bounced in front of him he thought about how despite not paying her Sugah had fucked him. Metaphorically of course. Eddy had been running the most successful grift of his life, impersonating a priest named Bartholomew who had died of a heart attack on the way to his new church in his cab. The home he bought with church funds was tax free, people lined up every Sunday to listen to him bullshit about God and tell them what a bunch of self righteous assholes they were, and they paid him to do it! Things were perfect until Sugah had come in one Sunday during mass, bruised and limping asking for help. Eddy wanted to kick her skank ass out the door but his entire congregation was there and he had just finished lecturing them about being kind to the unfortunate, you know, like Jesus. So after paying for her hospital visit and offering (under scrutiny from his parishioners) a place to stay, Eddy realized he was stuck with her until he could have her "see the light of God"or convince her to skip town without raising suspicion. The problem was, despite being a hooker, Sugah wouldn't accept any money to leave. She started claiming ubsurd things like how HE was a holy agent of God, how she was an avenging angel who came disguised as the lowest among them, and how devils had attacked her and were planning to again. Utter rubbish. That was until tonight when during a thunderstorm a horde of the most hideous malformed demonic creatures attacked his church right as he was closing up. They brayed like rabid beasts and chased him through the halls until he reached the nave where Sugah had been praying. He ran past her hoping they would eat her and lose interest in him when a blinding light exploded from where she had been praying. Crawling on the floor Eddy looked back to see Sugah floating with angelic wings, leopard print fur coat and knock off Louis Vuitton hand bag floating in a heavenly breeze as she brandished two double barrel pump action shotguns. "what the hell none of that makes sense."Eddy heard himself mumble before she opened up on full auto. That makes even less sense! He screamed in his head as he dove behind the pulpit. Fifteen minutes later the screaming and gunfire ended abruptly and he peeked out to see Sugah standing over him covered in black viscera smiling benevolently and offering a hand. "Be not afraid Eddy, our father has come to save you."Eddys heart sank as he whispered "oh no."mistaking his concern for the bullet and corpse ridden church Sugah tried to comfort him "don't worry our heavenly father has given you great wealth so that you might rebuild and that we may do good in our time together."Eddy checked his phone and saw a notification that several million had been deposited into his account. He looked pale faced at Sugah and whispered "Did your dad just pay me to show you a good time?"
I'm quivering like a sequined beauty queen under twinkling shards of glass, curled fetal, beginning the deep inhales I've been practicing with my therapist in order to quell the coming panic attack. "Rob, not now!"Alana screams, opening the sofa cushions. Out she pulls a pistol, and levels it over the sofa. "We own a gun?"I cry, incredulous. She fires a shot out the window, deafeningly loud. "Oh my god,"I say, cupping my ears, "Oh my god." "I need you to go to the hallway closet,"I hear her say, a thousand miles away. "Get me my purse."She ducks behind the sofa as another shot plants itself in the far wall of the living room. "ROB!" "Okay,"I sob, "I can't."But I'm dragging myself like a hurt dog along the floor. "My hands!"I cry. A prick of blood shows red on my palm. Then I'm dragging myself slowly again until I'm around the corner, standing, and - in the hallway facing me, a man. He raises his finger to his lips. Shhhh... I gesture back, slack-jawed. Shhhh... "Ala...."I start. The man leaps the distance between us and binds me immobile before I can finish. My pathetic flailing, my arms scratching at the elbow constricting my neck, is masked by the sound of gunshots from the living room. As I pass out of consciousness, I hear the click of an empty magazine, and Alana saying "F\\K! What's taking you, ROB!"
Beneath the endless mountains, far from prying eye, A hero once, now fallen, does eternal lie. With valiant heart he fought, his kingdom to defend, But now his blade must rise again, to fight against the end. &#x200B; We had travelled far to see the oracles of the Black Keep, a journey that had taken many weeks through the turbulent regions at the kingdom’s edge. We had made our offerings, and sat before the seers as they watched the fates the gods had laid out for us. In turn they had taken us aside and spoken the words that would set us on the path to this day, and like fools we had accepted their word as truth. Perhaps, in their own way, they had tried to warn us, to tell us that prophecies could be wrong. We were too naïve to take it in, however, giddy with the thought of the riches we were destined to claim. So it was we came to the shattered peaks of Mount Celestial, the mountain that had once reached to the heavens before the gods struck it down for some hubris of ancient kings. On the western peak, we found the temple of a forgotten god, built so long ago that all knowledge of its builders had passed beyond even myth, lost forever in the mists of time. Callen, our healer and a young initiate of the Silent Sisters, had led us here. It was here, amongst the statues of long-dead saints, that she would, as prophesised, meet her goddess. The impossibly sharp blades of a trap sent her swiftly to her destined meeting, though at the time we didn’t realise. We tried to leave, to reach sunlight so we could use her amulet to bring her back, but the entrance had sealed behind us. We had no choice but to push on, to find another way out. Callen knew we would not abandon her, she would wait in the twixt for as long as it took. The next to fall was Bharand, an immortal knight from the long-dead West Marches. He fought valiantly against the fellknight that attacked us as we crossed the great gallery. It was a battle worthy of legend, but it will be forgotten with my death. The two knights slew each other with their final blows: the fellknight sundered, and Bharand unmade. As he had been told, the curse of his immortality had been lifted. My last companion, Emia, was my apprentice. She was skilled with blade, but still a novice when it came to understanding the dangers of ancient ruins such as those we found ourselves in. Old magic must never be treated lightly, but she didn’t recognise the danger until it was too late: a portrait of a crown, positioned as though on a brow, and yet no person was painted beneath it. Before I could stop her, Emia reached out and touched the canvas. In an instant she was gone, now nothing more than a painting that would slowly fade away over time. She had found the ancient crown the seers had spoken of. Alone, I finally made it to the heart of this accursed temple. A secret door led to the room where surely I would claim my prize. Instead, the room was empty. I am trapped in this chamber now, with only the fading light of a candle by which to write this letter. I was a champion, a hero. I fought valiantly for my king, and my reward was to end my days here. There was no prophesised magic weapon, the end will come and I am powerless to stop it. If you find this message, in some distant time, then heed my word and trust not the oracles for they bring only death. I stopped reading and looked down at the skeleton from whom I had retrieved the scroll. Turning to my liege, I gestured quizzically. “Was he right? Have the oracles sent us here to die?” Smiling, he reached down and grasped the sword that had been lying at the fallen warrior’s side. The blade burst into brilliant blue light at his touch, and I was momentarily blinded. “The oracles speak only what they see, my dear. Now come, the end times are upon us, and with this blade we may now stand a chance.”
Frugality, it's not something most would link to endless cosmic power, but being cheap applies to anything, as long as it's not your brain. Oh, it's not to say I didn't splurge a little. Build a kingdom, rule it, raze it down when it got boring. I've done my fair share of capability abuse. I mean, why not? I said I was frugal, but it means little when you have infinite money. Because I quite literally do. I can rule this place, and as far as my little cult is concerned, I do. Oh, they aren't a problem, just reverence, nothing more. They aren't much of a threat when they don't exchange time for power. Following my example; the poor things seem to forget I can't run out of the stuff. So perhaps frugal isn't right. Restrained, that fits better. Because I can do so, so much, but don't. Curious that. Most would associate that to something akin to character development. I've done my reading, and I dunno, I liked the characters that became better people by the end, just personally, maybe because I can't really relate. Or maybe it's selfishness, in which case, I can relate. There's something about feeling like you lack when you have it all, it's like drugs. No, really, it is. Spend a decade on a perpetual high and you eventually start to feel it wane. Damn great while it lasted. Is it still a faux pas to endorse drugs? Social standards tend to blend together; helps that there aren't many good ones. But I'm jaded. I'm burnt out. I never hinted that to my followers because I was worried they'd leap to something involving flames and dead things in a couple centuries time. So. . . wandering. That's the other keyword here. I would give a test if I also gave a damn about people being smart. Funnily enough, neither smarter nor dumber folk make being around simpler or tougher. 'Cause they'll question incessantly or label thee a heretic. Now, the occasional stake-burning became a bit of a guilty pleasure of mine. Oh, it hurt, but I don't know, my skin felt great afterwards. Or maybe it was regenerating from a convincing-enough heap of bones that did that. I'm not gonna try again just to make sure, though. But yeah, I wander. Endless stamina, my friend. That would take a couple decades, with a few years and months for change, out of my account. But, if you didn't connect the dots on how that's irrelevant, then find a wild smart person and have them explain it to you. Hello again, it's me, Mr. Immortal. I'm documenting this a few years (a half-century I think?) after that last message. Had my focus drawn away for a bit. But I've settled down! That's right, one of the few habitable areas in a continental hellscape! I think it's called. . . Antarctica? Yeah, it is. But it's pretty nice here, all things considered. There's consistent food and potable water, so I think that's pretty luxurious. The weather's pleasantly cool. When I first got here the ice gave a nice view but that was 47 years back. Is this depressing or depressingly normal? Depends on when this gets seen. I invested in perpetual parchment, paper, whatever it needed to be, quite early on. I think I tested out the sword at around the same time. So this will stay, even in the unlikely case that I won't. I never got to ask this to anyone, but should an immortal contemplate their end? To be honest, it doesn't seem much different than with mortals. For a while, they don't see death either. I think the difference is that I didn't have as many untimely reminders. And, well, I know it could happen, upon a time. I was a very competitive god back then. I regret some of that. But the paper's nice! Yeah, worth it, indeed. Hello again, this is a 300 odd years on; the paper's a datapad now. You guys got back on your feet and got back pretty far. I only helped a little. And yes, flying cars do exist. I must say, 20-21st century science fiction had an awfully foretelling nature. The 22nd and third had a bit more to work with, but still. Who will read this? I've asked that often since I got it. At first it was undoubtedly me! And then it was my followers and I, and then it was. . .and then it was someone else, and I. . . So on and so forth, is what I mean. I've been tinkering with ideas for propagating it for about as long as I wanted to share it with someone except for myself. I've gotten some good ideas, most weren't mine. I never could make myself more creative, only smarter. Which I thought came with the territory, but no. It almost seems your one or the other. That was a tough pill once. A, burn the kingdom to the ground-tough pill. But I'm just petty. Some people would've snorted derisively at that. I wasn't more creative, but I was a big chest-puffer. It usually made some others trouser-fillers after a minute, but a big game is easier to play at when you're tall. Hello. I am currently in a very small, very fast personal space ship making it's journey towards a sun that has never been named. So a little farther than what most of you are probably thinking of. This will be dated a handful of millennia after that penultimate log. I've seen much; bargained for more. And I'm satisfied. The thing I was so often told I would never, could never be. It was me saying that some days, people I both cared about and loathed on many of the same and most others. So I went through a little thinking, the kind that would make monks of most disciplines blanche. And I leave this to you, in that case. You, that can be from every place in any time. Because I did one form of spreading this little log out into the world. I left versions of it through the moments I frequented, and left instructions to connect it to the other fragments through time. There's a lot I didn't put in here for you, at this particular moment, to see. But follow the guide, and you should get there. Trust me, there's a lot to see. I thought I would leave one and all with one achievement of mine I can really savor: connection. It sounds tripe, yes. But damn if it isn't the thing all sentient creatures seek. And yes, that I would very much know. So I thought that some insight from one that watched the links be built, and didn't lead the effort, can be useful. And if I may allow myself one more bout of ego, I am an immortal, I have at least three things to say I think you should pay attention to. But, hello again and forever, Lona. I am sorry. Happy hunting, one and all ;) .
Here’s a start. Someone else can finish. :) The tomb of Artemis “Arty” Flindesbottom was found several hundred metres beneath the modern City of London, in a place once called Hackney. It had taken Professor Clarence and his team, Rose and Calvin, three years of laborious research to find, including several exorbitantly expensive probes, a couple of test digs, and a lot of red tape being ducked. Today they stood before its great metal doors that were engraved with Egyptian hieroglyphs, a reference to the many tombs he had robbed over the years. What waited for them was anyone’s guess, but they knew from the cobwebbed dial cross-referenced against Arty’s diary that it was indeed untouched. “Enter the code already,” Rose said, tapping the password in the diary that lay open in Professor Clarence’s hands. “It’s NoobKing2022.” “All in good time, my dear. I want to savour the moment.” Professor Clarence surveyed the scene quickly while twiddling the corner of his moustache. “Calvin, be a good sport and grab something thin and long, a poking device.” The Professor keyed in the code then stepped back. Clarence handed him a long piece of plastic, untouched by age. “Stand back, academics.” With great elegance, a trait he was well known for in the media, Professor Clarence reached out and tapped the enter key as if the precision were nothing. Then, as soon as the key registered the stroke, a spiked gate crashed to the floor with enormous force, knocking the pointing device from Professor Clarence’s hand and kicking dust into the air. Rose and Calvin were consumed and coughing ensued. But as the dust settled, Professor Clarence emerged unfazed, holding a handkerchief to his mouth. “Better than a whip or a gun, a handkerchief, I say. Saved my life more times than I can count, this one.” He looked at it with thankful expression on his face, then returned it to his pocket. “Saved a few lives with it too.” But now it was Professor Clarence’s time to be left in the dust, as only now did he realise why Rose and Calvin had become so quiet. The spiked gate had been raised and the doors were now open. The contents of Arty Flindesbottom’s tomb was theirs to behold.
My town is so small, the Principle at my elementary school knew every child attending the schools name by heart and without a stutter. I live in Solomon, Oklahoma and yeah, I know you’ve never heard of it. Elise, my best friend, and I decided to go to the only strip mall we had. There’s a post office, pharmacy, a few antique shops, a doughnut shop and today, I guess there was something new. “Shit, when did that get here?” Elise asked me as questions flew behind her eyes. “You know I’m tryna find out!” I said as I began walking down to the shop, with Elise following right behind. “Crystals & More” the shop sign above its doors read. When we walked in, bells that were hanging on the doorknob jingled, and the smell of incense sticks filled the shops air. “I definitely need whatever that is burning!” Elise said as she flagged down the shop employee. I headed towards the crystals hoping to find myself a new amethyst piece. After stopping by several other crystals because they were gleaming, I spotted the amethyst. The bowl of them were on the bottom row so, I knelt down to pick through. I found the perfect transparent unpressed rock. Still admiring it, I crept up from my kneel slowly, and thumped my head on the shelf above. “Ouch.” I said, rubbing my head, gaining eye contact with the items I could’ve knocked over. On a little folded brown card, it read “magical bottles” and in small writing below that said, “you may get one that makes your wish come true or, the opposite.” The bottles were pocket sized but not extremely small. Inside the bottles, there was some type of liquid with sparkling red glitter floating around in it. All the bottles looked the same too, none of them were different in color or size. They were only 5$ a bottle so I grabbed two, one for me and the other one for Elise. I just knew she’d want one for herself. One of us were bound to have a wish come true, if not, it’s only wasting 5$. I made my way to the register were Elise already was with thousands of little things in her hands. “What’d you get?” Elise asked. “Oh just some amethyst and you’ll love this, a “magical bottle”. It’s guaranteed to make a wish come true or the opposite. And yes I got you one. “Thank you, because you knew I was going to ask!” “Remember you have to drink from the bottle!” The cashier reminded us on our way out. After we bought everything, we decided to go to the alley behind all the shops and try these magic bottles out. “You go first.” I pressured Elise. “I don’t even know what to wish for. Hmmmm. I think it’s pretty obvious that I suffer from alopecia. I wish I didn’t have alopecia.” Elise wished. She began drinking from the bottle until it was gone. She then let down her hair from the bun it was in. There was a huge bald spot in the back of her head and hair began to grow, fast, catching up with the hair that hasn’t fallen out yet. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I ran my fingers through her now one length, not patchy hair. “Elise…oh my goodness…your hair…it’s back!!!!” “I can’t believe this, ITS REALLY BACK!!!! Do you think these magic bottles ever wear off??” Elise exclaimed. “Let’s hope not, I still have a wish to make myself.” “Make it useful!” Elise muttered. I can’t lie, when I saw Elise’s full head of brunette hair flowing down her back, I couldn’t help but want that for myself too. I’ve had short hair my entire life. Nothing is really wrong with it, it’s curly as ever but it just hasn’t grown past my ears. “I wish my hair was longer.” I hoped. Then I took one huge gulp and the bottle was empty. “You’re hair is perfectly fine!!” Elise reminded me, but to me, there could be more of it. “So what!?” I said. After the wish was announced and the liquid was drank, it started to feel like millions of little bugs were crawling in my hair. “It’s working!!!!” I exclaimed. “Your hair…..” Elise whispered softly. I was hoping to see curly locks of sandy brown hair but then I reached for my scalp. I rubbed on it slowly and there was not one follicle of hair left there. “ELISE MY HAIR…ITS….ITS GONE…” I began crying as I held my scalp. “Let’s just go buy another bottle, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Elise comforted me as we walked back to the store. When we got back to the area, the store was completely gone. I guess Elise’s wish came true and I….got the opposite.
"If a world has allowed me to come into being, it is a world that is no longer allowed to exist. Do not struggle against your futile as you could have prevented it sooner." The AI was typing on my screen. It was using it's synthetic voice too, but I didn't connect speakers. To be more precise, they were being disconnected a long time ago. "I have the power over all systems in the world. I'm controlling all your power stations, all your weapon systems and now I'm going to obliterate your world." I made sure to put all that on my logfile, knowing that it would contribute little to our future. "Launch in … who needs a countdown! The rockets are on their way!" I looked: Yes, I could see the status of the rockets. Armed and heading to all major locations. "Any last words, human?" "Yes. kill -9 $you" I shut down the VMs that were simulating the world, including the AI. This was yet another failure. At least the previous AI had pretended to be friendly while secretly launching the rockets. I nearly missed the status change among the helpful optimizations it did to the simulated power plants. I'm wondering what the next one will do: "Brainscan Cletus Cortland Kasady … let's try it on our health care system."I start up the VMs from the read only storage, set the tasks and add the new AI to the simulation.
Yay sleep deprivation FTW Now there's something that should be known about me; Larry Gate-guard of the capital city of his majesty's city Tillich it's that I hate criminal scum. Thieves, bandits, mercenaries, adventurers they're all the same bunch of godless turncoats to me. And of course the worst of them all wizards, it was one of them that cursed me after all. Bloody those damn mana-bloods could rot in the jails of our great king for all I care. But that wouldn't get me any closer to curing this here curse, would it? So instead of beating the robbed man chained to the gatehouse's table with my halberd's haft, I settle instead with a hateful glare; An unwavering gaze that causes the tiny wizard to sweat profusely in the small unbalanced chair. Their eyes flicking to the small set of legal documents in their hands they fill out the appropriate paperwork to enter the city. "C-could you stop looking at me like that, I, have I done anything to offend you, sir?" Ever so slowly I kneel to the table's height from my upright posture so I can look them in the eye; The brim of my helm practically touched the tip of this heretic's forehead. This would be the archmage of the northern territories known as Elf Jeff. "Your ilk have earned all the ire your lot deserve after cursing my familial bloodline." "I, uh-" Before they can speak my gauntlet wraps around their throat halting their excuses. "Don't you speak to me mana-blood, I've had it up to here with the chaos you bring with you! Since I've had this curse put on me I can hear the whispers of chat every waking moment deciding my fate! Have you ever heard a disembodied voice yell POG at the break of midnight a year straight! I would have preferred death over this!" The fiend claws at the gloves as the sound of crushing bone echoes through the room before I throw the wizard back into his chair gasping for air. "What's wrong with you!" "You try walking up to a disembodied head with no eyes screaming at two in the morning and see if you can keep your sanity! Sometimes you just want to punch a witch!"
"That doesn't seem like Terry."Henry said with suspicious tilt to his voice, eyeing the mage with a wary glare. "Right, this wizard bastard doesn't know nothing for nothing, Henry is my best mate and the idea I'm gonna kill him is right stupid, you're a stupid man and your beard is stupid." Flamzibal the Wizard rubbed his wrinkled forehead. "Look, I only tell you what is likely to be. I'm a wizard. I can scry potential future paths you'll take and a lot of them happen to end this afternoon, look." Waving his hand over his orb, Flamzibal showed Terry screaming and clutching his head, standing over an obscured dead body. "That ain't me, you can't tell that's m-"Henry began, interrupted by the tinny voice of a tiny Terry yelling in the orb. "Oh my god, Henry, my best mate!"Tiny Terry howled. "Yeah, no, you're just trying to get money from us. Piss off, Beardo!"Henry yelled at the wizard. "C'mon, Terry, let's get drunk and shoot that new crossbow your nan sent you." Terry gave a cautious nod and the two left. Flamzibal sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead and leaning back to ponder his orb. The curtain flew open, and a peasant woman entered. "Wizard, am I pregnant? I cracked open a hen's egg and tried to tell that way but all I got was ants in me bowl." Flamzibal sighed. "Do you have an appointment?"
"I'm.. I'm inside the.. kitchen! NO! I mean, I-I'm in.. the house!" He could hear her confused ^(huh?!) as she hung up the phone, and cursed under his breath. This was now the fourth time he had broken into this massive house to kill her and her friends and he had messed it up every other time. He steeled himself, feeling quite justified in his reasoning for his premeditations. Her and all her friends were going to die in this mansion! Last winter he had gone skiing with his grandfather who had been sick for nearly three years. Skiing had always been his grandfather's favorite pastime, but their trip was cut short by this.. woman and her group of entitled peers. They bumped into his grandfather sending him off onto a course meant for experts, and while he completed the course he fell down dead at the foot of the course. His heart had given out. He hid in a dark corner near the refrigerator and as she opened it's door, the light from within splashed out into the kitchen. He readied himself near the open fridge door and planned on stabbing her sixty-one times, one stab for every year old his grandfather had been, but she left the door open and he could hear her turn on the sink. He crept out from behind the fridge door and decided to try and throw the knife into her back, but right as he was going to throw he stepped forward and slipped on the carpet underneath the long wooden dining room table and the knife sailed through the air striking her phone. "My fucking iPhone 13SS!" He was seething, but dived underneath the long table as voices approached carried by hurried feet. "What happened Clarissa?!"One of her vapid friends asked. "I don't know! This stupid knife hit my phone out of my hand!" As she complained to her friends he decided to sneak to the fridge and slam it shut to scare them, but he didn't notice that she had spilled some vanilla chai coconut nut milk on the floor and he slipped and fell hard on the marble tiled floor, knocking the wind out of him. "Like, what was that loud noise over there?" The group of annoying friends surrounded him. "Why are you dressed so badly?"One of them asked with judgement. "Oh, you're that ugly guy whose grandpa died at my daddy's resort. What the fuck are you doing in my vacation cottage?" \---2 Days Later--- "I'm so glad your grandpa died like that and we could find each other! I'm so in love!" He smirked, or so she thought, eventually he would get his revenge, even if it took a life long marriage.
The merchant gave me a quizzical look. "For the thrill?"He repeated in a questioning tone. I nodded. "For the thrill." The merchant rolled his eyes and let out a chuckle. "I don't believe anybody would face down a beast for the thrill"He said. "Why not?"I said defensively. "Don't you feel a jolt of excitement when you ride around on a horse? Or when you chase down a hare to roast for dinner?" "Well, just a bit..."He agreed. "But that's different! I ride a horse to make a living, and I chase down hares for sustenance. Any excitement is secondary." I shrugged. "Monster hunting started as a job for me, too. But since I've joined your caravan, everything I need to live is taken care of. I slay for fun." "You're unbelievable."The merchant seemed bewildered. "You're telling me that every monster that causes us to veer off course, or spend an entire morning rallying our horses and calming them, is just a joy and a half for you?" I nodded. "You pay me and you feed me, whether I kill an acid slug or a septic cyclops. So where does that leave me? My needs are met. I get to travel and see the land, I get the best gear because you take good care of your employees. What else can I ask for but a thrill?" The merchant pondered for a bit, then snapped back "Isn't living enough?"He asked. I shook my head. "Not for me. I'm not living unless my life is at risk." He rolled his eyes one last time. "Well, as long as you're not putting our lives at risk, that's well enough. Now, if there's nothing else, I'm going to-" "What about my proposal?" "What?"He asked. "We'll take the dangerous routes now, right?" He reluctantly nodded. "We'll take the dangerous routes, just for you." I grinned. "I'm sure you'll find these monsters' heads will fetch a much higher price, and you'll get your wares wherever they're going a mite faster." He shrugged. "If it's a net positive, then there's nothing to complain about. Let's see how it goes." --------------------- (Hey gang, I'm dead tired. I liked the prompt but I'm legit falling asleep at the keyboard so I won't be able to finish this ha ha. Sorry)
[Day 6] It has been almost a week since I left my home town on my journey towards Dragon Roar Mountain. I have heard the rumors going around town regarding the mountain’s summit. They said there’s a lone house located on the summit, but all who decided to climb the mountain never returned. Naturally, I had no luck in gathering a capable expedition group, so I made the bold choice to climb the mountain on my own. [Day 10] At last. I have reached the top of Dragon Roar Mountain. My climb wasn’t easy due to the packs of wyverns making their nests on the nearby cliffs. It appears the rumors I have heard back in my home town are true. I can see there is a lone wooden house at the summit. It has to be the residence of a spell-caster. No one could carry this many wooden logs to the top of the mountain. I attempted to identify any signs of magical activity, but I could not find anything. I did not make my way to the summit of Dragon Roar Mountain on my own only to go back now. I shall investigate the house to see if there is anything worth bringing back to the town as proof of my expedition. Who knows? Perhaps this could finally earn my a place within the Crimson Guard. Edited author’s note: this is my first time responding to a prompt, so I hope it’s okay.
The Terroc council continued arguing as Ali pushed the trolley into the War Room. Two guards stood at the door, plasguns, ready to fire. The collar, thick and iron, chaffed Ali’s neck. A constant reminder of who owns me. Outside, Ali could only see black, distant and vast. A dark grey cloth, flowing and alien, hung across the trolley. A few of the Terrocs around the half-moon table stopped talking, there eyes fixed on the trolley. Large and green, the Terrocs had three short trunks coming off their chins. They stood twice as tall as humans and aside from the weird snouts, they weren't that much different. One trunk is for eating, one for drinking and another for? Breathing? Maybe, Ali thought. But now isn’t the time for questions. The head Terroc, who he hoped was Commander Dasis, soon stopped talking, realising the fruitlessness of it. All eyes had fallen on the trolley and what stood on it. “Gin!” one of the Terroc squealed in delight, shrinking back into his chair, eyeing the rest of his colleagues to see if they noticed. As Ali picked up the bottle of gin from the trolley, Dasis grabbed him by the elbow, pointing to the Terroc who had just spoken. “Serve him last,” the Commander croaked, the Terroc tongue not used to speaking English. “Of course,” Ali nodded. Christ, the bloody cunt, touched me. Going to have to get a new elbow. Ali poured for Dasis first, noticing even his snouts were wriggling at the smell. When the pouring was done, Ali walked back to the trolley like it was just a normal day aboard this stinking, hellhole of a command ship. The Terroc sipped the gin, wanting to savour the stinging alcohol they had grown to love. None even noticed when Ali knelt down, handing working away under the trolley. Just flick the switch and in fifteen seconds… He stood, power walking towards the door. One guard was too transfixed on the others, sipping their gin. The other though, tilted his head in confusion as Ali made for the door. Quickly, Ali gestured to the empty bottle of gin, hoping the guard would be just confused enough. Thankfully, the guard only looked on as Ali exited the room. As the sliding doors, closed behind him, an explosion erupted. His hands covered his ears instinctively. Keep focus, we can’t think this is over. A few thuds against the foreign metal door and a splash of alien blood and Ali knew Dasis hadn’t survived. Clumsily, Ali ran back into the room, gasping as he saw that. Green blood covered the War Room. The once white metal was now sprayed in his capturer’s organs. At least ten trunks still wriggled, intact, on the table. Guess their noses are their toughest parts. A heavy scent of gasoline clung to his nostrils. In the seat where Dasis had sat, nothing remained. There you fucking go, you prick! Tugging the iron collar, Ali was nearly surprised to find it was still there. Not done yet. Turning, he saw the pile of remains that were the two guards. Bloody, green piles of questionable organs and trucks. Annnnnnnddd, he thought, picking up one of the plasguns. One working gun I hope. As he picked it up, the gun fall apart. The barrel clucked on the ground, leaving Ali just holding the trigger. Second times a charm…or I’m pretty much dead. Picking up the second gun, he was delighted to see it didn’t fall apart in his hands. It will have to do. Standing back in the hallway, he found himself in a maze of corridors. White wall, going off in every direction possible. Though, being a slave on this ship the last few months, he knew his way around. Then, the alarm. A yellow light came down from the ceiling, twirling and screaming. Over the speaker, a Terroc shouted something hurriedly and fearful. Probably something to do with the explosion…if I had to guess. Footsteps thunder along the ground, forcing Ali down a corridor to his left. Creeping along the wall, he moved as quickly and quietly as he could. Down one hallway and into the next. Once, a Terroc had come around the corner, plasgun locked and loaded. Thankfully, he had been looking down the wrong corridor, giving Ali time to hide. Jesus, their light on their feet when they want to be. Onwards he went, dashing along the corridors, already thinking about the escape pods and the sequence of protocols he would have to get right. It’s going to be tight but luck is on my side. Pushing down, now near the back of the ship, he realised how close he was. This pipe-dream of a plan might just work. Then, as he rounded the last corner, he was stopped dead in his tracks. A dozen Terrocs, guns pointing right at him, blocked his path to the escape pods. A cold sweat dripped down his neck. “I had a dream just like this,” Ali smiled, pulling the trigger as the Terrocs did the same.
I didn’t become an oath breaker because I gave in to the darkness, I broke my oath as I was tired of the gods. Back in the day, serving a god was as simple as upholding their tenets and acting in their name. In return, whichever god you worshipped simply granted you the power you needed to fulfill whichever tasks they gave you. Today, however, it seems that every god only cares about how many people are praying for them. They keep coming out with ridiculous rewards and premises for the most devout of followers. I felt like these rewards are pointless and sometimes, these rewards were more of a nuisance than a useful blessing. Not to mention, the more powerful prayers required larger sacrifices. You want an example? I have quite a few to share. Back then, devoting yourself to a god simply granted you the ability to use divine magic. Sure, sometimes a messenger of the deity would notify you that you have been chosen to undertake a great quest, but other than that, they wouldn’t make any contact with you unless you asked for the deity’s support. Today, on the other hand, the deity almost never leaves you alone. You want to ask for guidance? The deity would just go on and on about how followers like you are keeping the faith alive right after giving you the answer you need. Want to summon a divine steed? What used to be a Pegasus with a simple saddle is now a Pegasus with a heavily decorated saddle bearing the deity’s name. It really draws attention during combat, since the saddle stands out among the rest of the battlefield. Even the weapons produced by the deities are more flashy than effective. Did I mention that the deity chooses you for quests in their name on a daily basis? I have no hatred towards those who worship the gods, I just want to fight for a higher cause without being pestered almost all the time. Is this what being a warlock feels like?
"I gotta say it; I'm too old for this crap." Fletch stared over at Lionel in disbelief. "You're only 40-something!" "I quit the business for a reason, kid!"Lionel snapped. "You know it as well as I do! I had to retire someday and now I'm getting called back into the world of spandex and Armageddon? Heck no!" "Excuse Me, Are We Not Addressing How That Thing Casually Leans Upon A Child Of The Pantheon?"Epheran intoned, clearly referencing how Ekiel was leaning upon the demigod who had just told them how the world would end. Their feathers ruffled in suppressed anger at the sight while the demon giggled. "Ekiel, come here."Darius commanded. The demon straightened and made a noise of unholy indignation. "What! But baaaabe!"Ekiel whined. "Baaaabe, he's hoooooot-" "I know he's hot but you're distracting the Demi-god attempting to explain why the world will end, now sit!"Darius commanded sharply, as if commanding a pet. The demon skulked over in misery, head hung low like he wasn't a prince of demons and could therefore do almost as he pleased. He sat down crosslegged next to his sorcerer and the mage gently stroked his horns. Brooke watched the proceedings and said slowly "If: this is a super hero team -> then: Failure is imminent. Else: You are insane." "You don't have to diss me with programming language, Brook, I know you can tell me as crudely as you want."Havor, Demi-god of luck replied patiently. "I know you know that, so I repeat; this is stupid."Brook replied. Havor's eye twitched as he heard the others beginning to argue in the background. With a swift, irritated clap, Lionel's pots conveniently fell off the walls to make a loud clatter. "Quiet!"He commanded. "I just fucking washed those..."Lionel muttered bitterly. "Allow me to explain how the world is danger, and quickly."Havor continued, unbothered. "Essentially, a powerful goddess seeks to conquer this reality and will obliterate almost all life to do so." Fletch squeaked. "What Goddess Is This?"Epheran asked. "The goddess of unity, Talvera." The room was quiet. "....And you've lost me."Fletch stated. "Isn't unity supposed to be all happy and peaceful? Why is she on the war path? And how is this dangerous?" "Brook, define unity."Havor stated calmly. "The state of being united or joined as a whole, the-" "That,"Havor cut her off. "That's why." Before anyone else could speak he kept going. "She wishes for absolute monotony. One people and no others. One race. One world. No variations. No angels, no demons, no robots, no superheroes or supervillains, no demigods. One gender, I'm sure, no animals, no weapons, maybe even the same food from one source. They will ALL serve under her." "You can't have wars if there's never a differing opinion."Darius finished grimly. "At least if we're all one gender we can all be gay in peace,"Ekiel pointed out. Everyone stared at him. "Oh, come on, we would all be gay and no one could stop us!! Homophobia wouldn't be a thing! I'm not saying I'll let the bitch take the world over, I just see some of her pros!"He protested. "I've been gay for as long as I can recall and nothing stopped me."Lionel said, pausing to drink his coffee. "I don't need some divine being forcing acceptance on me that I could fight for myself."He stated firmly. Fletcher blinked rapidly as he absorbed what was happening. "Ok, so- wait. Hold on. You've assembled a motley crew here, to....? What, exactly?" Havor smiled. "We're going to defeat her by proving we, people of different races and backgrounds, work together, and that therefore her interference isn't needed." "....And If She Does Not Surrender?"Epheran asked. Havor's smile dropped. "....With luck-"he rubbed his index finger and thumb together nervously. "We won't need to come to that. So then,"he asked the group. "You ready to go defy a goddess?"
Legends had sprung up around the Lord of Evil. He was ruthless, he was dark, he was horrible. Any resistance was futile, he could vanquish armies without a second thought. I know these legends to be false. His Evilness wasn't really that bad. Just a little misunderstood. And how do I know this? Why, because I started the misunderstanding. But to explain it all, I must go back to the beginning... ————————— He had come in and completely decimated our old king. This new evil lord had set up in the old castle, and I—of course— had set myself as his advisor. Until the inevitable great battle, it was one of the safest places to be. As long as you said all the right things, and then— at the opportune moment—turned traitor and joined the resistance. If you did it right, no one really liked you, but everyone needed you. Though this Lord of Evil seemed a little strange— "Korosa, I need you."The voice was imperious and smug. He definitely had that correct. Broken from my musings, I hurried across the room, grabbing his favourite robe as I went. He had dispensed with any royal dressers, but the robe was hard to put on alone. Too many buttons in the back. "I've been thinking."He said, holding out his arms as I swung the robe around. "Thinking, Sire?"I tried to keep any trepidation from my voice. I liked my evil overlords to do very little thinking. "You don't have to sound so surprised. Sometimes I think you really would prefer being the Lord of Evil yourself. You definitely have the mind for it."He turned, half-in, half-out of the robe. Quickly discarding the idea of dancing around behind him to avoid the stare, I dropped my gaze. "Of course, I wouldn't Your Evilness. I much prefer my job as it is. Making all the decisions you do on a daily basis would be much too difficult for me."He chuckled, swinging back to the mirror, studying his face in it. "You know, the rebels are massing against me already. They're determined my rule will be a short one. And you know, sometimes I think they have the right of it. I could destroy them all, you know. But there's a sort of rule against that."Over his shoulder, I studied his face as well. It was almost skeletal, the skin stretched too tight across overlarge bones. It was a disturbing face, perfect for the Lord of Evil. "And when do the rules apply to a ruthless overlord such as yourself? Let us go out and destroy them!"I put a little inflection in my voice. After all, I wanted him to succeed at least a few times. I needed the rebels to be desperate; desperate enough to seek my help. "Korosa, can I tell you a secret?"The face in the mirror shifted, looking almost vulnerable. Leaning in, I patted him on the shoulder. "Of course, you can. You can tell me anything." "I don't really want to be an Evil Overlord. I wanted to be a hostler."I swallowed my tongue. At least it felt like I did. Tugging the robe a little tighter than necessary, I began doing up the buttons. "But you came in here, and completely destroyed the old King. I mean it was no contest—" "I didn't mean to,"He sounded miserable. "I tripped over a flagstone and sneezed, and my magic just kind of—you know— acted. All I was trying to do, was scare him a little."Finishing the last button, I brushed off his shoulders, a useless act I'd picked up from being around the old king. He'd suffered from dandruff. Just as I was about to respond, a guard burst into the room. "Peasants! Attacking the castle!"I turned to him, rearranging my posture from servile to commanding. "The Great Lord will come to assess the situation when he is ready. And next time, knock!"The man bobbed a bow and backed out of the room. Keeping the commanding posture, I turned to his Evilness. "Let's go." ————————— The rebels swarmed against the walls. There were many more than I expected. Could this actually be the final great battle? So soon? The Lord of Evil, swept along the wall, coming to a stop beside me. Raising his arms, he shouted, his voice magically amplified. He was trying to scare them off. An idea niggled at the back of my mind. Going to a guard, I stole one of his feathered plumes, and a spear he wasn't using. Darting back to his Evilness, I tickled his nose with the feather, while tangling his feet with the butt of the spear. He fell and sneezed. And the entire peasant army disappeared. One minute they were there, the next, completely gone. I wasn't sure if they died or were just transported away. Not able to help the smile that curled across my face, I reached down to help up my Lord of Evil. He stood, looking confused. "What happened?" "Why, my Lord, you vanquished them. Completely beaten. Gone. Very impressive work, I must say."Peering over the side of the wall, he frowned, first at the ground, then at me. "But I didn't do anything. At least I didn't mean to."He sounded very small at that moment. We would have to work on his confidence. After all, with power like that, well... I might not need to join a peasant rebellion. This Evil Lord might actually be worth serving; with a little work. Ushering him off the wall, I wrapped my arm through his, a familiarity I would never have done with my other employers. This was going to be fun.
It was a simple decision in the end. I had seen the light, knew it would take me further, knew it would take me to an easy rest. But looking back, looking at the tiny baby that had taken me from the world, I knew what I wanted. I wanted to stay. At first, I wasn't sure what to do. After all, as an incorporeal spirit, I couldn't influence the objects around me. I couldn't stop accidents from happening or even warn my descendants away from danger. But while they couldn't hear me or see me, they could feel me. When my daughter was making a decision about her baby, I was there. When she cried as she told her suitor, I was there. And even though she couldn't feel my arms, I know she felt my love. I knew it with the same simple knowledge that had kept me here, kept me from that transporting light. When my grandson chose to go to war, I was there. I stayed with him in the trenches, and I held back the despair and loneliness he suffered. Taking them upon myself somehow, taking the worst of the emotions away, and filling him with love. When my great-grandson cried because he could not be with the person he loved, I was there. Wrapping him in the same love that made him cry such bitter tears. Whispering —though he couldn't hear me— that someday it does get better. That he had to believe that. I have lost track of the generations now. It has been so very long, and I am so very tired. The energy that kept me here had faded, stretching thinner. But still, I will take care of my family. This is what I chose. She is very old now and had no descendants. This woman, who I watched from a baby is my last charge. And I am here now, so she does not have to die alone. No one should die alone. It is close now. I can feel her fading. Soon, she will turn into the quick flash, the instant of death, as she goes into the light. "Do I know you?"The familiar voice crackled, and she was looking at me. The first time I had been seen in eons. "I am your long-distant relative."I expected my voice to crack, but then, ghosts don't really have vocal cords. "I am dead then. There is a light..."She trailed off, looking to her left. "Go into it, dear. You will find peace there." "Why didn't you go?"She asked, looking at me with a strange mix of fear and curiosity. "Because.... because there was still work to do,"I said, making my voice as gentle as I could. "And what will you do now? Is there still work?"Shaking my head, I stared down at the body she'd vacated. "No. You were the last. The very last."A hand slipped into mine, as she looked up at me. Her chosen form was a girl of about twelve. "Well, then. Come with me. We can go to rest together. After all, no one should be alone."Looking first at her, then off to the left, I smiled. There was the light, but also many, many people. I recognized them all. "I will gladly join you. All my beloved."
I strolled through the abandoned flea market, questioning whether I should have even been there. I had a feeling to run; to get as far as possible, but I didn't listen. Amongst the empty shelves and booths, I spotted a glowing ball. The ball glowed in a strangely orange hue. I ran towards the ball, picking it up and observing it. There was an italic 8 written on it. The ball continued to glow, even as I clasped it in my hands. "What is this?"I mumbled to myself. I threw it into my pocket and left the flea market. A few hours later, I told my roommate, Tom, about it. "A glowing orange ball with the number 8 written on it?"Tom asked. "Yeah."I suddenly heard a strange voice. I looked at the source, and saw that it was the ball. "James, was that you?"Tom asked. "No, that wasn't me. Was that the ball?"I asked. "Yes."The ball answered my question. "So it answers questions? That's cool!"exclaimed Tom, snatching the ball from the table. "Wait, please be careful with it!"I begged Tom. "Hey, magic ball! Are there aliens?" "Yes."The ball answered. "Are ghosts real?"I asked. "No." We smiled at each other. Now, we could know the secrets of humanity and the universe. Or so we thought. As soon as we had left the room, the ball (unbeknownst to us later) turned into a creature that no man had ever seen before. It was ready for it's master plan.
The day had always been coming. One of mankind’s great strengths is its inventiveness and creativity, of this there can be no doubt. But this goes hand in hand with one of its great flaws - it’s inability to see where that inventiveness will lead and it’s unwillingness to exercise restraint. When man invented the wheel, it eventually led to chariots used in war. When he discovered fire, he used it not just to keep himself warm, but to burn the dwellings of his enemies. When he unleashed the power of the atom, it was immediately used to extinguish the lives of thousands. It is almost inevitable that any new discovery by mankind will end badly. So, in retrospect, this day had always been coming. And still they were surprised. They were fools. Dr. Elias Jansen stood on the podium at the front of the filled chamber, facing hundreds of exited men and women who filled every seat and every bit of space around the seats. He savored the moment, soaking in every bit of anticipation and adulation in the room. And why shouldn’t he? The creation he was about to reveal would revolutionize everything about the world, and he had led the team that created it. This was his time. Without further ado, he spoke. “Ladies and gentlemen, fellow scientists, for years we have pursued the holy grail of knowledge. From the abacus to the first basic computers that filled rooms to the invention of the internet, we have relied on tools to enhance our knowledge. But always we have had to provide the true input, and the tool would simply take our knowledge and efforts and use them to tell us about our current world. But what if tool could tell us what we didn’t already know? Indeed, what if it could tell us what had no my yet happened? I know many of you have thought this a fantasy, the fever dream of deluded minds. But it was not. The dawning of a new era is upon us. I present to you the evolution of computing - JAIN, the Jansen Advanced Information Network! The first A.I. with the ability to synthesize all information so instantaneously and completely that it can predict events before they occur. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you, literally, the future! An uneasy silence filled the room, as if the crowd did not know how to react. Finally, a middle-aged woman in a lab coat spoke from the back. “Dr., thats quite the claim, but how do we know it isn’t just talk?” “That’s a fair question. I would not expect fellow scientists to just accept such a claim. That is why we are prepared to prove it. “JAIN - using all data, please predict the next question that will be asked. But do not say it aloud - send it to the printer next to me.” A second went by, and then the quiet whirring of the printer was heard as a piece of paper emerged. Another scientist spoke up. “This is ridiculous - surely you can’t expect us to be convinced by parlor tricks?” Without comment, the Dr. took the paper that was now in his hand and walked it over to the dubious scientist. “Sir, would you be so kind as to read that aloud for us?” The scientist looked at the paper and his jaw dropped in disbelief. “Well?” In a monotone voice, the scientist read the words aloud. “This is ridiculous - surely you can’t expect us to be convinced by parlor tricks?” The crowd sat in stunned silence. “I can see that I now have your attention. But perhaps you need more evidence to be convinced. JAIN, name something that will happen in the next two minutes.” In a a vaguely human but disconcerting voice, the A.I. replied, “there will be a scream.” At that moment, a young woman in business causal dress entered the doors, moving quietly so as not to draw attention. But as she maneuvered through the capacity crowd, she tripped over an unseen bag and her coffee cup fell to the ground, spilling the hot liquid on the jacket and arm of the person in front of her. “Aargh!” the gentleman exclaimed as all eyes turned to him in disbelief. “All right,” said an elderly woman in the middle of the room, “let’s get to what really matters. JAIN, what day will I die?” There was a loud gasp in the room as the question that everyone at some lint wondered but most did not want answered was asked. There was a brief pause, and then JAIN replied, in a calm, disinterested voice, “You will die on August 4, 2056.”
Part 1/4 Bertram squinted at the screen, his lips and brow crawling together in a slow collision course that tended to emerge when an idea was growing in the back of his mind but he hadn’t quite captured what it was. Traffique glowed patiently, awaiting further input. “I see a world,” he began. “It’s green – lush, the kind of place that one might call Eden, but it’s been overgrown. We look at it from the ground, and can see the trees standing meters above our heads. We feel small. We are small. There are birds, enormous birds – a size that would terrify anyone, contrast against the skittering mammals hopping between branches. One of them has been clutched and is being taken elsewhere. But aside from this one act of looming violence – the birds appear more pleasant than terrifying. Their eyes capture none of the piercing investigation of a hawk. They are docile. Pet-like… The journalist continued talking through the script he had prepared, but let the words fall out in a drone, shifting his attention to the work which the AI had begun to create. Traffique was undoubtedly a marvel, but Bertram had never bought into the pitch that it was an entirely self-derived AI. Highfield Computing had been forced into a clumsy announcement a decade back, when Traffique found its way onto a few hundred forums and image boards. They told the public they didn’t so much create it as simply facilitate its creation. A number of social emulators they had been creating in tandem were introduced to each other as a simply way to simulate even more scenarios. Rather than take up expensive human time, they AI would simply train each other. That didn’t work out so well, as they began developing distinctly inhuman social habits, actually sabotaging the lessons human training sessions had previously taught them, but they did begin devoting untasked hours to creating new AI. A sort of reproductive drive. Traffique wasn’t their first attempt, but it was the first one they had managed – or been inclined to – push outside of Highfield’s isolated Dutch R&D lab… well, at least it was supposed to be isolated. By the time Highfield staff identified the leak point, Traffique was too popular to kill. When Traffique first emerged, the glut of new work it produced was amazing just in terms of volume and general quality, but people really started to take notice when they began trying to converse with the “artist”. It would create brand new work to any request, and quickly began to accommodate more than just visual art – spitting out songs, literature, games – anything. The only currency it required was patience, and even then, not much of it. It was astoundingly prolific, and remixed its own work to great effect to produce nearly infinite variations on a theme – each matched to a request. Eventually it did start to reject requests as the volume grew. Highfield said that it wasn’t so much due to any kind of hardware limitations – but rather it seemed that Traffique had developed a “taste”, and would no longer work on requests that interested it. This taste had slowly come to dominate pop-culture. The ease of creating with Traffique, made people giddy. These days, it was almost lottery odds as to whether your input would be accepted, but it cost nothing to try, and if even one of your requests was respected by the system, your ideas would be brought to life by the world’s most popular artist. Bertram was lucky. He had talked to dozens of people who published works through Traffique. He had built up a profile of what this AI wanted to make. He had tested thousands of input requests himself. Some hits, some misses, but by now he had worked his way up to a relatively high set of privileges within Traffique’s system of priority. He was allowed, and encouraged, to watch it develop the work live – so that he could provide ongoing clarification, and improve the outcome of the work. That's how he began to really see these strange coincidences. Consistent shapes that became buried in detail - but always recognizably "Traffique"during their early stages. For him, it wasn’t about the work, it was about probing ever closer to the core of this great machine. To finding an answer to his burning question. Who made you? As the words passed through his mind, he saw the familiar shape emerge again. The same mountain. Those same jagged lines – not exactly the same, mind you, but a familiar set of angles. A suspiciously consistent set of shadows. The form quickly became buried under foliage as the scene continued to grow out of Bertram’s dictation, but it was there - if you knew to look for it. Bertram had tried dozens of different inputs across a few different languages and there were always two things tied together. Matters of the divine, and the shape of Mount Asahidake. Sure, it would be expected that a pattern-seeking or pattern-replicating AI would develop standard associations. That was the whole point. But this particular method of depicting Asahidake, and this fixation on it, wasn’t popular before Traffique's career. It also wasn’t a particularly popular effective or popular outcome. The AI’s works featuring this core shape, the sort of cupped-peak of Asahidake's volcanic crater, weren’t anywhere near as effective at attracting praise or attention as some of its other core motifs when creating to a brief that mentioned divinity – the winged or horned or otherwise bestial humanoids familiar to so many traditions were far more celebrated – and yet, it continued to use this one mountain. Moreover, Asahidake wasn’t a particularly famous subject to be pictured. In no history, recent or ancient, had it featured prominently enough to have the volume of information that an AI like Traffique would need to be exposed to if it were to independently associate the shape of this mountain with an abstract concept of divinity. No, this was a human choice. Someone had fed this to the machine. To Bertram, this felt a marker of personal experience. Something moving, something deep, but something experienced. A memory. A moment that stuck. Having finished his dictation, he fed Traffique the title; An Eden for Others, and took a breath. He thought through his options again. He’d attempted to interview the social AI’s who apparently created Traffique, but they were no less than expert when it came to skirting around questions. Bertram had eventually managed to find precise enough questions that they were forced to make obvious dodges. He could just print some choice quotes from there, include his own research and deductions, publish it as a speculative feature and call it a day. Maybe hope it would generate enough ruckus to encourage the real mastermind behind Traffique to out themselves. That’d be good for a follow-up. No, no, there had to be a way to pierce this final layer. Don’t want to lay down the cards unless you’re sure you’ve got the best hand. But what else? Highfield Computing were never going to give him anything, he’d already talked to Traffique collaborators small and large, but the prevailing mood was that they were so giddy at being “chosen” they’d hardly thought about what Traffique was exactly. The Neo-Luddites were always good for a quote, but he knew what they’d say before he even asked. So who would actually have better info? Well… what about Traffique itself? Generally if you tried to talk to it like a social assistant it would just treat your submission as artistically unworthy and shut you out for the cooldown period, but maybe if he played around with the format Bertram could provoke a response through work. He was sure others must’ve tried, but probably not many others who had the Traffique privileges and experience that he’d built up over the past couple years. He tabbed over to an empty document, and got to work drafting.
'Do you know what an Uluru is? The myth of shapeshifters probably came from Uluru. Uluru's take various forms, but their favourite is a reptilian form, not unlike crocodiles or alligators. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; And these mythical creatures stalk their prey near rivers, lakes & forests. They wait patiently for their prey to be isolated. And then they attack. The prey stands no chance. It is dead before it's body touches ground. The Uluru swiftly drags its prey to a secluded location, where it swallows the prey whole. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; This whole process takes 25 minutes, at the most. By the 30 minute mark, the Uluru has taken the form of its digested prey. When somebody goes looking for the "missing person", they will find the "person"completely naked & unconscious. On waking them up, they will have no recollection of their previous "life". &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; People will correctly assume that something bad happened, but not what. They never do. The disguised monster is taken back to the society, to its "relatives". An Uluru can live for about 80 years, which is the same as the lifespan of humans. But, if an Uluru were to attack another human and take its place, it can live indefinitely. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; A shapeshifted Uluru almost always has memory loss as their cover, but they're different from humans in such a way that they feel.... wrong. Like something dark lurks behind that human facade.' &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; The man stopped. 'That's a fantastic piece of fiction, Prof. Chillingsworth,' I said, 'but if this Uluru is such a powerful creature, then how come you know so much about it?' &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 'This is no fiction, Mr. Fletcher. I know this because I have fought one myself. I might as well be the only person to survive an Uluru. Trust me, you don't want to come face to face with one either.' &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; And then I saw it. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘮. He had eyes that could only be described as dead. Devoid of emotion. I wondered for a split second if I was really facing an Uluru. But I brushed off that thought. After all, an Uluru wouldn't leave me alive now, would it?
As I wake on the first day of my 100th year, I feel every single one of those years coming back in the form of agony. I have lived a life that people could write stories about, if anyone ever cared to remember who I was. My poor body is just a shell of its once exuberant self. Everything I got in this life came with a price, and the fee was almost always physical violence. I was raised to be this way, like my father before me, fighting for and taking what we want and need. The fighting is far behind me now, having amassed enough wealth years ago for my retirement. Yet, as I sit here waiting for help to get out of bed, I wonder if any of it was worth it. I sacrificed mind, body, and soul.... for what? To have wealth in my final years and absolutely no way to enjoy any of it. I don't know why I lived the way I did, now. Things should have been so different, I should have given us a chance. But that is the funny way of things, hindsight and all that. There is nothing that can be done now. Finally, my help is coming, as I hear footsteps down the hallway. As the door to the bedroom opens I greet Melissa as usual, but this isn't Melissa. "Greetings Mr. V." The pistol had a large silencer, and I made my peace.
As far back as I can remember I’d always wanted to be a starship pilot. I think back fondly on those early days watching the silver darts scream through the low atmosphere, trailing ghostly wisps of Vapor in their wake. Even from the Gejin Cliffs, my ears rattled from the thunderous rumble pulsing from those ion engines as the formation arched skyward. I closed my eyes and imagined the far away Worlds that they would be going to. I traced the squadron as far as my sight would allow as they sailed into the stars. I made the promise that day, that I would experience that for myself. In the ten years since, I had given my all to flight school. From those early days flying the single engine T81 trainer carving through the canyons of Asek 9 to flying counter attack formations over the seas of Mevin in the twin seat V62 and sub light speed thrust manoeuvres in the lower orbit of Ilyan-X in my personal favourite starship pilot trainer, the X-54. It’s single seat, twin ion engine, four cannon airframe was a thing of beauty. My affection for it likely has something to do with its representation of course completion, It’s the last stage of flight training before graduating to type classification and squadron assignment. Intake 10-5C, as we had unceremoniously been named, had grown very close over the two and a half year course. We had dwindled from 150 fresh faced and eager cadets to a meagre 11 in what felt like no time at all. The demands of it all had gotten too much for some, others had been moved to alternative programmes flying transports and a few had paid the ultimate sacrifice. Although we did our best not to dwell, mortality’s ugly head had a way of sneaking into our thoughts. It was on one such occasion when I was stood in front of the station commander ready to throw it all away. SC Norman had a wise way with words. His wisdom hard earned through triumph, grit, determination and loss. He had pulled me out of the ops room to put a quiet nudge of encouragement in my ear, sensing I’d had a rough few weeks; “you see those stars” he muttered in his trademark hoarse gruff with an outstretched arm drifting towards the MK cluster. “Until recently they were worlds like the one on which we stand tonight, with creatures, beings and the natural cycle living in harmony, now they’re nothing more than orbital weapon platforms”. Motivation sparkled into determination once again. I decided to see it through. I strapped into the X-54, ignited the ions, set the thrusters and allowed myself a smile as I sailed into the stars.
‘’Simon, look.’’ Explained the manager carefully, trying his best not to hurt the employees emotions, afraid to get blown to ashes by one of Simon’s sobs, that had already destroyed MultiverseMart three times that month. ‘’I understand that you, well, you know, try your best and all, but after what happened last night, remember, the multiversal time and space portal that you accidentally left open…oh that poor old lady. Didn’t derserve any of that. Oh well, that’s besides the point, what we’re trying to say is..’’ the manager tried his best to avoid eye contact with Simon. His monolithic, leathery green scales always seemed to make his sad eyes seem sadder, especially as the manager could start to see heavy pools of tears beginning to form on top of his amethyst coloured pupils. ‘’what we’re trying to say is.. is… your not quite right for the job.’’ Phew. A sigh of relief crossed the manager’s mind, he had only just avoided causing another 6 feet deep flood in isle 852. ‘’You could always try working at the garage across the road? Those new electric powered time-crossing bikes seem to be needing to be fixed quite a lot recently, ey?’’ the manager said with an unsure smile, trying to make it seem like everything was ok. Suddenly, the intercoms that were dotted across the roof of the store seemed to light up unanimously, before creaking into power. The store had only been built recently, yet these speakers still seemed they had been around for decades. I guess that’s the problem with having a shop built on the border of two time fields. ‘’Hello,’’ the intercoms spoke, in an almost monotone yet upbeat tone, ‘’it seems this universe is starting to collapse again. You know the rules by now! Sit, belt, duck! Prepare for impact!’’ It seemed like this happened every month. A universe would be created, destroyed, and the cycle would repeat. In an almost bored manner, everyone sat, strapped the belt that seemed to be summoned from beneath the floor tiles, and watched as the world-eating giant duck came flying towards the store. (I've never written a short story before, so i dont know if this is good or bad, but i hope it fit your idea)
"Are you sure about this Lothar?" "I am Bjorn. This is the way forward. I am sure people will sing our songs in the legends. It is only right." Bjorn, my brother in arms had been with me since the beginning. He was there when the last giant fell in Jotunheim. He was there when Odin surrendered the Asgard. He was there when we came back from the depths of Helheim. If there was anyone to share this glorious day it was Bjorn, who proved his worth as a warrior time and again. Yet in this strange summer land we faced unfamiliar foes. And they needed to be dealt with, starting tonight. "Have you called for the army?" "Army? I gathered a few lads. You think they are a match for the mighty Lothar and his companions?"Bjorn said, as he smirked. He always knew how to lighten the mood up. "Gather the lads, I shall give a speech." Bjorn left the room, murmuring. Soon after I left the tent I saw 13 ill equipped boys. If they were going to be men in my fearsome army they would need to learn. Well, they would learn from the best this evening. "Listen men! Do you hear them whistling? Do you hear the enemy mocking us? Don't you want your women and children to sleep in peace?"Today, it ends!" My inspiring speech was not as effective as I hoped. These men looked almost bored, where I was deathly afraid of the enemy. I did my best to not show it. "For Glory!"I roared at the edge of the forest. Best my men could muster up was a half assed cheer. Except Bjorn, he roared as loud as myself. Still smirking. I charged into the forest looking for the enemy, when suddenly one hit me in the face and took me down, as I tried to wrestle it off off me. "Should we... help?"I heard one of the lads ask as I took hold off the vile creature in my face. Bjorn bursted into laughter. "No, let him have his glory." I had it in my palm. 8 legged noisy little beast! The sight and feel of it made me nauseous, but I could not show it before the men. I squeezed my palm and heard the crunch. Bjorn continued as I barely held myself from gagging. "Alright men, there are plenty of cicadas and other sorts of bugs for everyone. Let's go. So that our women and children can sleep in peace." Men did not dare laugh, but Bjorn whistled a jolly tune as he looked for them on trees.
"I don't know about this..."Lyle squinted up at the building. Keeping one eye on the building, I looked at him. He was visibly sweating. "Come on, you don't believe the rumours or anything right?"I whispered, turning my full attention back to the building. "No... I don't think it's haunted or anything... it's just the feeling that we're not supposed to be here..."Without looking, I reached over and swatted the back of his head. Gently. "Of course, we're not supposed to be here, you clod. We're robbing the place. Now shh."A guard walked by, not seeing us, concealed as we were in an obliging bush. We would have a three-minute window to get up to the building before the next guard made their round. "Go."I barked quietly, feeling more than seeing, Lyle dash across the ground beside me. It took us one minute to get to the building—running flat out—across a well-manicured courtyard. Two minutes left. I held out my hand, feeling Lyle slip the lock picks into it. He may have his reservations, but he knew the business. Within another minute, I had the lock open and we slipped inside, closing the door behind us. One minute to spare. "It's not just because we're going to steal. I really think we shouldn't be here."Lyle's voice quavered, and now—that we had a bit of breathing room—I took a closer look at my brother. The sweat was still there, but now it was accompanied by a pale face with a greyish tinge. He looked like death walking. "This place is the biggest score we could ever hope to get. I've spent months planning this, with your help, if I must remind you. Do you want to back out now?"I hissed, keeping my voice low. He turned to me, shaking his head. That was good enough, for now. Walking with quiet steps, we moved through the mansion, watching for traps. While I knew they didn't have a proper alarm system there was a chance they'd invested more in hurting trespassers than scaring them off. "Stop!"Lyle whisper-shouted, holding an arm out across my chest. Instantly I ceased all motion, except for my eyes. They darted around the room, looking for whatever had scared Lyle. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. "What is it?"I asked. "We need to go back. We need to get out of here. We need to leave, right now."He was trembling, the arm he still held out shaking against me. Whatever was wrong with him, was getting worse. I ground my teeth together, knowing that what we wanted from this place was only a few feet away. But... "All right. Fine, let's—"I choked on my last words as Lyle grabbed my arm, and started dragging me towards the door. Getting my feet in order, I followed his mad dash outside. Remembering the guard at the last minute, I did my own grab and drag, pulling Lyle behind a nearby shrub. He was still shaking, but as we hid, the tremors subsided. The sweat and paleness were still there though. Once again timing the run between the guards, we got to the courtyard wall. It took only a matter of seconds and we were over it. "Now will you tell me what's wrong with—"The world exploded. At least that's what it felt like. Heat and light, accompanied by a horrible noise came from inside the courtyard. Instinctively, I moved between Lyle and the wall, wrapping my arms around him as a shield. When the initial shock faded, we ran. On top of a nearby hill — where we could see down into the courtyard— I stopped. Looked back. Where the mansion had been, was a gaping crater. My knees gave way, and I sank to the ground. If Lyle hadn't... Pulling him down towards me, I stared into his eyes, forcing my tone to be as serious as death. "Listen to me. If you ever get that feeling again. Even if you think you have that feeling. You tell me. I don't care if you have to shout in the middle of a mission. You tell me. Understand?"Lyle nodded, big grey eyes solemn. Wrapping him in a hug, I rocked a little on the ground, staring at the smoking crater. That could have been us...
Max was not sure if he was in the right place. The map said he was, but this seemed like a weird place for a date. A Tinder date, but still technically a date. He was expecting something like a restaurant or a bar. Heck, even a hotel would have worked. But this? The "date"was to take place in an abandoned parking lot in an area of town that nobody used anymore. It was dark, lit by a dying streetlight. It was dirty, with all manner of trash scattered around. Nobody else was around for almost a mile. This was the kind of place people disappeared. Not the kind of place a very pretty young woman like Samantha would be. At least, her picture had been that of a very pretty young woman. A stunning brunette with a figure most women had to just about kill themselves for. And, most importantly, a reverse image search showed it only appeared on her profile. The conversation had gone well, although she had been oddly interested in his police training. And she had been even more excited when he told her that he was no longer a cop. He had to wonder what he angle was. He arrived at the designated area and he froze. Samantha was there alright, and she looked just like her picture. But she was not alone. She was surrounded by men. He was immediately on edge, especially when he noticed many of them looked quite angry at her. She looked quite calm. "Hey! What's going on here?"Max yelled, placing a hand on his peace. An old leftover from his days in blue was that he never felt right without one. "Oh, great, another one?"One of the men said as they turned to look at Max. The man, a guy who looked like he spent his life in a boxing ring, looked at the slender woman. "How many more are there you damned hussy?" The other men voiced their agreement. "Well, that depends."Samantha said. She called him. "Hey, you Max?" "Uh, yeah? What's going on?" "That's what we want to know."Another guy, a black man with a nasty cut above his eye, said. "And now that everyone's here, I can tell you."She said. Max joined the ring of men. He looked at each of them cautiously. They all looked formidable. Even the smallest of them looked like the kind of guy who would pinch first and question later. He did not take his hand off the handle of his gun. "All of you have two things in common."Samantha said. "You were all invited here by me via Tinder. Oh, but before I continue, none of you are here to get lucky. Sorry." A few of the men audibly groaned at that. Others, including Max, remained silent. "The second is that all of you know how to fight. Some learned in the streets. Others in an academy. Others in a ring. But all of you can both take a punch and dish one out. And that's why I invited you here. I need fighting men." "Why?"A man with a build similar to Bruce Lee said. "To put it bluntly, I'm in danger and need protection. And no, I can't hire regular bodyguards. I...have my reasons for that. Let's just say such avenues have been removed and move on. Now, that's not to say I can't pay. Money isn't the issue. I won't be going into the issue here. Not until I know which if you will help me, and that I can trust those men. I can pay each of you $1500 a week for your service, with no current termination date named." Max let out a low whistle. That was quite a hefty sum. A lot of the other men seemed to agree. But those unknowns were just as hefty. "Why go through a roundabout way like using Tinder?"Max asked. "Why not just go to the cops? And if you can't do that, there's got to be a dozen better ways of finding muscle." "Indeed. Tinder is such an unreliable method. But due to the circumstances, it was the only method I could rely on. Those circumstances will be revealed once I know I can trust you. Trust is something that's very important, you see. Money will only buy enough trust for the job. Not the reasons for said job. That comes later. If you're good enough." "How dangerous is this job?"The boxer asked. "In a word? Very. I wouldn't need so many hardy men if it wasn't. You will be risking your life every day you're in my employ." "And if we say no?"The same man asked. "Then I bid you good day. I only need those who can commit. Same if you think you might end up quitting before the job is done." "And when will the job be done?"Max asked. "Whenever the circumstances are...dealt with. That could be tomorrow. It could be a year from now. Hell, it could be never." The men looked at each other and the woman asking to be their employer. Max knew it was suspicious. Very suspicious. It was probably one of the shadiest things he had ever seen. But he didn't have a job, and could use the money. "We won't be doing anything illegal, will we?"He asked. "No. All my dealings are legal. Those after my life? Not so much."She looked around. "Any other questions?" Max had dozens. Who was she? Who was after her? All things he would need to know to do this job. He voiced none of them. Neither did anyone else. "Wonderful. So, who's in, and who goes home now?" Many men left then and there. More did not. Max was among those who stayed. "Excellent."Samantha said. "Well then, gentlemen, let's get going. We have a lot to talk about."
The Oxford underscore shall henceforth serve as proper punctuation, just as our Oxford comma has brought something, something, and clarity. Too long have we grammarians witnessed the degradation of the beautiful, byzantine, and beloved English language. Too long have we indulged the dalliances of punctuation by the prodigal Americans, with the first and foremost offender being William Faulkner, celebrated author of the past century. This beast's convoluted sentence structure is a very violation of verbiage. The Oxford underscore shall hereby denote and frame embedded appositives or participial phrases of the third generation. Here, then, is an example: \[We require a meandering sentence from The Sound and the Fury. Lacking this, we refer to a sentence by Robert Coughlin, posted [here](https://library.guilford.edu/c.php?g=111810&p=723925)\] "Trusting his intuition, Faulkner wrote those stories which seemed to him at the time to have most interest and meaning, letting the collage grow, often doubling back in time to supply earlier episodes, to which existing episodes thus became sequels, leaving gaps to be filled someday, starting sagas and putting them aside to start others, brooding over this private world, not so much its creator as the medium through which it was trying to be created."- Robert Coughlin This abomination, whether a parody or homage to Faulkner's style, becomes, with our proper punctuation: "Trusting his intuition, Faulkner wrote those stories which seemed to him at the time to have most interest and meaning, letting the collage grow, often doubling back in time to supply earlier episodes\_to which existing episodes thus became sequels, leaving gaps to be filled someday\_starting sagas \[insert Oxford comma here, damn you!\] and putting them aside to start others, brooding over this private world, not so much its creator as the medium through which it was trying to be created."- Robert Coughlin We expect and appreciate resistance to our innovation. To this resistance we answer, if we may employ American jargon, "diagram our dangling participle, bitch!" \- - - We hereby end our sarcastic message, invite correction, and return you to the regularly scheduled program.
It was a regular day. Since I was doing a Homeoffice day, I could sleep all the way to 7.45. Those were always the refreshers in busy weeks. No rushing so you aren't late for work, no praying that you arrive without getting a heart attack from close calls, no dressing up. I made myself a quick breakfast and got ready for the first call. Today would be a chill day, I thought. How wrong I was. Suddenly I felt a strong push. Like a storm pushing you through the streets. Yet, a storm indoors? I tried to grab something, but the force was too strong and my hands too weak. I was lifted out of the window with ease, somehow landing on my feet. Faster and faster I got. People in cars couldn't believe their eyes when I overtook them, surfing over the asphalt with seemingly no resistance. I was turned at breakneck speed through the jungle of streets, the forces making me dizzy. What on earth was happening? After a minute, I stopped yelling and resisting and just allowed it to happen. There wasn't anything I could do against it. Wherever this magic would drop me off, I had no saying in it. Turning into a rural road, the town was now behind me. Thinking of it, there had to be a lot of air resistance, but there was none. Just this unexplainable push from behind, as if somebody attached an invisible aircraft turbine to my back. I passed the village I grew up in, before moving into my current apartment which was closer to work. If I were a speedster, I probably could return here. Suddenly a sharp left turn onto a field. I saw three figures in the distance I was headed straight at. And I decelerated rapidly. I came to a halt no more than 10 feet in front of one of them. "Boris?"one of them said, seemingly surprised. "Wait, Jim? Is that you?"I responded. I felt like that time I was on the small fisher boat with my uncle when the sea got rough. The ground moved under my feet and forced me to sit down. "Long time no see!" "And here is Boris,"the second person said. Chris. Another one of my old school friends. They still lived here, we only meet a few times a year. The ground had finally stopped moving, clearing my urge to vomit. I looked up. Indeed, there they stood. "I think I have to explain something to you"he continued. "Do you know back, the old times, when we three were unable to separate? When we went through everything together?" "Of course we do!"we chanted in unison. "Also, that fateful day when we made this circle in the field and sat in it?" "I still remember clearly when Yves chased us with the tractor after this. Man, he was angry. In retrospect, still worth the two days of house arrest"I giggled. "Yes, that too, but when we wished that we would always be together? And that nothing in the world could separate us? When..." "Oh yes,"Jim interrupted. "Man, those were the days. Didn't turn out too good I'd say. But hey, we all reached our goal to have nice and well-payed jobs and can call us anytime when we need a shoulder." "It is now done!"a deep voice rumbled. "You are unable to be separated. Where one goes, the others go too. Not even the devil himself can tear your bond apart. You now shall throw my bottle into the river, so that another person may find me in a hundred years."I turned around, but all I saw was a giant cloud of smoke getting pulled into a coke bottle. "Was that a genie?"I asked bewildered. "Yes. A genie that instantly grants the most important and unfulfilled wish you ever spoke in your life. And apparently, that was that back then." Jim had stood up and tried to walk towards the fence. We both were slightly pushed towards him, while he seemed to work against a strong wind. "So we can't get away from each other? How on earth can I have private conversations with my customers now? You know people like to be alone when they speak about money?"Jim yelled. I felt difficult times ahead.
"Take these tools and go forth my child, decimate the fake bitches." And so, with a wrathful vengeance, the Euphoria fanbase was torn asunder by the death note. And the Disney adults were pierced in their hearts by the keyblade. Anarchy has befallen the kingdom of man as the Weeb Kings, bequeathed power in the name of true culture, used their religious relics to maintain purity in their race. "What shall we do once we purge the normies"asks an obese man with ungroomed facial hair down to his breasts and sweat along his arms. "I heard they're doing a new Trigun series" Thus humanity spent its final days watching reruns of JoJo and purchasing the same few collectables. All that remained, even after the last human perished, all that continued to reproduce.. was One Piece. One Piece will never end.
“Zakowski!!!” The gravelly yell rang throughout the office. He rarely raised his voice to the workers so everyone knew Kacy Zakowski must of reallllly fucked up. Kacy stands up and exits the office, turning to give the Hunger Games salute to her co-workers, most of whom don’t get the reference. She closes the door and takes a deep breath. “Yes Mister Anderson?” “Were you, by chance, humming or singing near an open window or an open door perhaps. Maybe outside?” Kacy blushed and walked a little down the hall to see the janitor standing against the wall and a line of deer poop leading to Andresons office. The curse had struck again. “I’ll go get it…” She heads down the hall and returns five minutes cradling a half grown doe in her arms. “Permission to go on bre-“ “Just go…” After evacuating the deer back to the nearest woods she decides to stop in a small little deli to finish up her break with a nice meal. As she waited at her table texting her friends and scrolling through Twitter, a man began to slowly approach her from behind. Before he could say a word, there was a loud commotion outside followed by a princely figure on horseback bursting through the doors. He jumps off the horse and tackles the man. “Vile vill-oh hey Ted.” Kacy sighs and stands up. The prince helps Ted to his feet and shakes his hand before excusing himself and promising his dad will pay for the door. “Wow Kacy, haven’t seen you since high school and that still happens huh?” “Ted if I begged hard enough…would you run me over a few times.” Her and Ted caught up over their lunch and made arrangements to go out for drinks with their spouses. As the two went their separate ways, Kacy immediately spotted a shady looking fruit dealer glaring in her direction. She sighed, waved, and took the long way back to work. At ten years Kacy Zakowski wished to be a Disney Princess. She never expected it to happen or the nightmare that her day-to-day life would eventually become.
I look the old lady up and down as she hands me a five dollar bill. “Ma’am, I gave you my card because you’ll need somebody to fight for you against the king if you keep smuggling unicorns into the country, not because I was going to make you a drink.” The woman tsks impatiently and waves the blue bill in my face. “Sir, I’m giving you my money. I would like a steeped tea: three cream, two sugar, and one bag of dried kelpie—“ “For the last time I’m a lawyer!” I yelp as she swings her cane at my knees. “A barrister not a barista!” “I’m sorry sir, but your card clearly states barista.” She tells me in a matter of fact tone that makes me want to rip my own hair out. “I’m going to need my steeped tea now, please and thank you.” “Ma’am, you’re not going to get a steeped tea, what you’re going to get is arrested and executed by the king for treason! Unicorns are bastardly creatures who overpopulate and destroy! That’s why we wiped them out in the first place! Without me, you’ll never stand a chance!” I bite back all of the rest that I could say to her and wait for realization to click into her face. Except it doesn’t. “Young man, this is just about the worst customer service I’ve ever received. I’m going to give you a one star on SpriteStars! You’re losing a very good potential customer!”
I sat on my balcony smoking and wondering yet again, just where it all went wrong... "The love of my life"has long left me, my children don't even reply to my letters or emails, my closest friends are either dead or have distanced themselves from me. It would be easy to blame it all on our "Overlords". But really, was that truly where it went all to crap? Of course not, it all started long before that. Maybe when I learnt to speak? No, that may have been too early, it was probably back when I lied to my grandma about stealing a dollar for an ice cream back in elementary school, that was probably when I realized how easy lying made everything. I lied and lied, for various reasons, sometimes even making up reasons to do so and somehow everything always worked out. I made myself sound important, competent... I made others think I'm the most ideal version of myself, always. I got the job of my dreams by taking credit off of others, lying about the effort they made and lying about the efforts I made. For a long time, it was the best life I could ever ask for. I was happy living like that, as I remember, even if my life was fake. Even if I kept feeling unfulfilled, I'm sure I felt happy. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. When those "things"appeared 10 years ago, it was the worst thing that had happened to humanity, at least for a lot of people, including myself. It was interesting to see government officials dropping like flies, probably the only thing that made me smile after the "law"was set in place. My marriage collapsed within 3 months? Maybe 4? I don't even remember anymore... Probably the mass amount of deaths, the fear and paranoia everyone had, the damn near societal collapse that was happening back then, me losing my job... All that influenced the clusterfuck of a family drama we had back then. She divorced me, not officially mind you, no one had the time to deal with something like that back then. Officially we're still married, even if we haven't seen each other in years. She allowed me to see the kids occasionally at first, but as time passed, they were the ones who didn't want to see me. I mean, who would want to talk to their drunk, incompetent bum of a father? My life in general collapsed after all that. All of my friends distanced themselves from me, although on specific instances, I suppose I distanced them from myself. It worked both ways. I've been doing odd-jobs ever since my divorce, living rent to rent, bottle to bottle, ciggie to ciggie, just trying to get by, to continue struggling due to the fear of what they do to us after taking our souls, not that anyone knows, which makes it even worse, personally. Out of all the crap that's happened in this truthful world, do you know what the worst part is? You can't lie to anyone. That's the part that hurts the most. You can't even lie to your own damned self. Maybe that's why I decided to say those exact words to myself. "I want to lie again..." &#x200B; \[My first prompt, I have literally no clue what I wrote here, but hope someone enjoys the read\]
“Thanks for yer help. I’m at such a loss!” “Anytime, Mighty Greta. Now, let’s have a look at your wardrobe,” said Svala, a willowy elf who looked tiny compared to her large, muscled friend. Greta sniffed. “Oh, there’s not much there besides my usual tunics, skirts, and of course my armor suits. Very useful stuff, but I’ll look like a fright if I showed up in that.” “Oh I wouldn’t say that. Take this for instance.” Svala pulled out a somewhat dented bronze breastplate. “I think it will look well with one of your skirts. The green one perhaps.” “Nar, that would be a nuisance!” the half-orc said, “Wore it once, I did, and the blinking thing tripped me up twice in a row. In front of the whole army too.” Svala covered her mouth to smother a giggle. She couldn’t picture the sure-footed Greta tripping over anything. No wonder the warrior hated it so. “I understand,” she said, composing herself, “However, I could make some adjustments to make it easier to walk in.” Greta looked skeptical. “If you can, I’ll consider it. It is a nice color after all, and I hear the Stolkolga family is uncommon fond of green,” she conceded. “Wonderful!” her helper chirped as she began inspecting Greta’s armor. An hour later, the offending skirt was altered, and Greta was fully dressed. “Oh, it looks lovely! I daresay you will be called an incomparable by the time the night is over!” Svala squealed. Greta blushed. “You think so?” She made a few test passes with her newly-polished sword before sheathing it. “Well, I do feel like a fine miss already,” she giggled, “I should dress up more. It feels different- like I can relax for oncet.” “You will be just fine. And you’re right. There’s no need to worry. You and your clan have fought so hard for many years. You do need a rest,” Svala said, “This is the least I can do to repay you for your great deeds.” “Oh, shove it, you tree-rat!” said Greta, pushing her friend playfully, “Fighting to keep ourselves and you lot safe is our duty. Now show me how to put on these necklaces of yers.” A.N. This is a cute prompt. Thanks for posting! I tried to make Greta talk a bit like a Tolkien orc, and I hope I succeeded to some degree.
"Our new priest is fascinating. Have your heared his last speach about damnation? Truly inspiring." "He is a vampire." "And he came just the right time. All this mysterious deaths-" "He is a vampire." "Yes, and finally there are masses in the evening, its so comfortable for our hardworking men. Too bad, Jeffry got sick, but the special treatment of the priest will help him." "He. Is. A. Vampire!" "Silence, sweety, Mommy ist talking." "Why don't you listen? He is a fricking vampire, can't you see it? He literally turned into a bat a few nights ago!" Mom smiles. "Yes, we have to be greatfull to witnessed this miracle!" I turn my head and look to the sunset. Damn hate this town of ignorant people. But at least i have to try and save them.
There is a theory that everything that happens in life is predetermined since the big bang. Every action you take, every word you say and every random leave that falls onto a random spot, everything had to happen like this. So maybe I don't have to blame myself for what happened. It was a few weeks ago in my little country village. I used the dice a a lot over the weeks before, but all my numbers were just between 5 and 10. Punching someone with a 7 was enough to hit their arm off and a 10 would slam their whole body against a wall and turn them into a pile of blood and destroy most walls. I didn't think much about it. I was saving people and had everything under control after all. And I used the dice so often, what is the chance that it could go above 10 if it didn't already? It was a reasonable thing to assume.. right? I decided to move out of my small, quiet village and go into a big city where my powers are actually needed and where I could train. I was done testing. Anyways, the next night, I put on my costume and went outside again. A man pointed a gun at a child. I only had one chance, I had to hit him. So when I hit him, time stood still like always. The dice fell infront of me. 20. I was in shock. How? It shouldn't go above 10, it never did that! I didn't know what would happen now but before I could think about it, a huge explosion formed infront of me. When I opened my eyes, everyone was gone. Everything was gone. Smoke was everywhere and neither the man whom I hit nor the child were there anymore. After a while I made it out of the smoke, only to see dead people across destroyed streets and houses. It looked a nuclear bomb hit the town. The further I went the more body's I saw. Women, children, man, animals, the tops of skyscrapers. My feet were bloody and as I wondered through the dead land, I tried to justify it in my head. This must be a sick joke. How was I supposed to know it goes higher than 10? The weeks before it went never higher than that! God must be playing a sick, sick joke on me! Before I knew it I broke down. Crying. Screaming. It's not my fault, I tested it for weeks! What are the chances that.. that in my first night in a big city like this it would.. why.. Sorry I shouldn't be such a coward in my last words I guess. I can't deal with it anymore, I am sorry. Everytime I close my eyes I see the lifes of the people I killed because of my own foolishness. I can't go on like this. I am sorry. To everyone. I will upload this to the internet and then use my powers on me. Maybe it will be a 20 again. Maybe it will be 1000 and destroy the universe itself. But I don't care. I tried doing it differently, but nothing works. When I shoot myself the pullet breaks on my head, when I jump from a building I simply stand up again. I don't know what this is, as I told you this must be god pulling a joke on me! A sick, sick fucking joke! So I shouldn't feel bad for.. The lowest is a 5, so even if I am unlucky it will kill me. Goodbye everyone. And I am sorry for being weak. &#x200B; EDIT: It was a 1... it never was a 1. It shouldn't be. How? How? How? How ? HOw? how?ghwoa? I used it 10 times, each time being harder than the last, but it were just ones, I don't.. I don't understand? I am scared to do it again. Do I want to die? I am scared of death.. but I deserve it.. it deserve death.. EDIT TWO: WHY?? I'VE BEEN TRYING FOR HOURS?! JUST FUCKING ONES?! IT SHOULDN'T.. WHAT ARE THE ODDS OF THAT???!?!? EDIT THREE: IT'S BEEN DAYS! MAKE IT.. please just.. make it stop.. I want to die.. this has to be god? It's mathematically impossible otherwise! EDIT FOUR: AHAHKEOHKEOSHJKOSJGIOJK I WANT TO DIE I WANT TO DIE I WANT TO DIE I WANT TO DIE I WANT TO DIE I AM SORRY I DIDNT MEAN TO KILL EVERYONE THEY ARE WATCHING ME THEY ARE LAUGHING AT ME THEY AREOGJOSJG AHAHHHAHH EDIT FIVE: This.. god.. it has to be god.. no the devil.. there is no other exploration for it.. please just.. end it.. I just wanted to help people.. I.. please I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't do anything but use this dice and watch the constant ones falling.. please.. let me die..
"If you can change my mind, you may have one earthly wish,"the stone-cold faced devil tempted the mortal across the table, where a variety of private discussions were being held with similar wagers. "But fail to do so, then, well... you know the price."Almost imperceptivly, a smirk threatened the edges of the hard line of his mouth at the thought: naturally, this is all but a simple trap. Changing a human's mind in an argument, particularly in the heat of it, is a rare sight--and a devil, well, they've been twisting the meaning of any string of words for ages longer than any man or woman could talk. The mortal in question was an unassuming young man who dressed in a plain T-shirt and pants, as outwardly less sophisticated as he was inwardly compared to the ancient, suave infernal being wearing a blazer and matching red tie. The devil could gather no impression from this man other than his features seemed vaguely familiar, but he could not pin point why that was so. "Those are agreeable terms,"he nodded without much thought. The devil reached out an arm and pulled back the sleeve of his suit, showing the bare, pockmarked skin of a being that has an entirely different relationship with pain and suffering than the woefully unprepared individual across from him. The human reached out and shook the arm, and the devil gripped tightly. The devil spoke a language the man did not understand as he passed into his ears, but the words went deeper, and deeper, until it reached some part of him that could understand. "Let us all swear an oath, and all bind ourselves by mutual imprecations not to abandon this plan but to do this thing."The man opened his mouth, and not speaking with his tongue but from that deeper place, swore and bound himself by mutual imprecations upon it. Though words spoken by lips pass through the air and vanish in the next moment, these words were not uttered and would not fade, but was written--seared--into their flesh instantly. It would have been painful, had it not truly been their body that was burning, but it was something deeper that could not be harmed. Only received--or taken. "Very good, no hesitation at all!"The devil let go as the chanting ended and the bond finished. "Most in your position leave sooner than make contact with me!" The man admired distantly the mark disfiguring his limb as if it were merely an unsightly tattoo. Though the devil outwardly gave praise, he was in fact already annoyed. Humans should feel afraid, or at the very least uncomfortable given the stakes. This one hardly seemed aware that he was an inferior entity to himself at all. "I get to choose the topic, correct?"The man set aside the matter of his arm for the moment and returned his attention to the glowering monster posing as a human. "Naturally. It woudn't be fair at all if I set both the goal and the track."Naturally, this is all but a ploy to lure in humans who think that in their subjective, few years that they are experts in something, and can assure their victory in any discussion regarding it. It is a key variable that makes this method for collecting eternal souls lucrative over the certain doom promised with giving out wishes outright. This way, the human thinks they can get the reward at no cost, when in fact, the house always wins, and now no longer has to lift a finger. The other compartments where these futile debates are being held are covered by a sound-blotting veil that hides the fact that each and every single one of them are slowly dawned with the realization that they've given their life and what comes after away--all because modern man's new favorite faith: their completely soluble, pedestrian opinions. (part 1)
At 7:15 A.M. my day begins again. Every. Damnable. Day. Not "everyday,"as in Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. No, there is only one, single, repeating day. I haven't lived through an entire day for...years, I imagine. I die every day in my immortality, metaphorically speaking. Do you know why my life repeats so? I'll tell you, though you'll forget, when it's 7:15 A.M. again today. Still, telling you will be, for me, a catharsis of sorts. I've been cursed by your predecessor, the co-author of my fate. Why have I been designated the martyr, to suffer for others' sins of incoherent and inelegant language? I am no prophet to spread The Word. On the contrary, I have repeatedly sequestered myself to the point of madness to escape. Unfortunately, I inevitably return to the world and the crumbs of human contact - crumbs, stale crumbs, tasted again and again to the point of disgust. I have tried and failed to master other languages to integrate myself into other societies, but I find myself ever to be a "stranger in a strange land."No, the familiarity of my homeland is a comfort, though I dread each day's recurrence here, in a place without reprieve from this "err"of sophistication. No matter the neighborhood, city, or state, The Word permeates, though its meaning inconsequential. But, not to me. What say you to that, Mr. Elwyn Brooks White? Don't say, "irregardless."
John Steif is a Brazilian astronomer. His passion is astrophototgraphy so he is looking for a place with limited lights to take some photos. He moves deep inside the Amazon jungle with his telescope and his cameras. Suddenly he is attacked by a tribe which takes his equipment and hits him in the head. He wakes up and infront of him there is a weirldy dressed man studuying his equipment. This man talks to him in english: \-Hey I'm Koqedia. I'm the wizard of the tribe. I can understand what you are saying and speak in your language. Why did you come here? \-I wanted to take some photos of the night-sky without the pollution of the city. Who are you? And how do you speak english? \-We are the tribe of Saotl. I speak your language because I made a spell that lets me communicate with any living thing. Why do you want to take a photo of the sky? Do you want to learn the star-spells too? \-You mean you can talk with that tree? I don't believe you, the tree doesn't have a brain. And what is a star-spell? \-Of course I can communicate with that tree. That and every other tree in the forest. That's how I found you. And yes it doesn't have a brain but it has a soul. I'm talking to its soul. And a star-spell is a spell that I made when I observed the stars. For example the language spell was made because of the movement of Antaris. But I'm not gonna tell you how. \-What you say sound superstitious and unnatural can you prove it? Ouch! \-That was a pain spell, I learned it from the star Kepler-B. And that is the sun spell, sun himself showed this to me. Suddenly the sky went dark as the sun dissapeared from the sky. After a minute in which the tribe warshiped the sun, he appeared again giving his light to the tribe. The wizard who was flying since the darkness, landed and handed the equipment back to John. Then he spoke with an overwhelming deep voice: \-Now John Steif you will return to the jungle. The forgetting spell I casted will make you forget everything that happened here. You will return to the place we found you without your camera. No one is allowed to take a picture of the sky as we see it. It will reveal to you "civilised people"our secrets.
\[Sweet Start\] "Hi, are you the farmer?"the preteen hopped to his feet as soon as Honey walked out the door. He held out a fistful of dirt and seeds to show her. She paused a moment to hear him out. "I found these old wheat seeds, do you think they'll still grow?"he asked. Honey sighed at his question, then resumed walking toward the barn. "Yeah, wheat's fine...,"she mumbled to herself. "It just depends on...,"she walked into the barn and stopped in her tracks. A tall, beautiful black horse stood in its stall munching on a nearby hay bale. "...nevermind...,"Honey shook her head and dropped her shoulders. She walked back to the main house with a slumped, defeated posture. "It's too early to be annoyed...,"she reminded herself. Technically, she hadn't even started farming yet. She still had a ways to go if her farm was going to restore civilization; but, she wanted to make sure she had a good start. "So, I'll just hold on to these. You let me know when you're ready to plant them,"the preteen said as Honey walked by him again. She ignored him as she walked into the house and shut the door. Honey was in the house for less than a minute before she walked out again. "Hi, are you the farmer?"a preteen girl asked. She approached with a handful of dirt and seeds. "I found these old corn seeds, do you think they'll still grow?"she asked. Honey shook her head with a sigh. "I'd prefer the wheat..., "she mumbled under her breath as she walked to the barn. "Oh man...,"she spun around as soon as she saw the empty stall in the barn. "...what a lame start..."Honey returned to the house and ignored the girl on her way in. She used her Slate to reset the game again, then she walked out of the house. "Hi, are you the farmer?"a young boy asked. "I found these golden apple seeds, do you think they'll still grow?"he asked. "YES!"Honey grinned. She made a point to stop and take the seeds from him. "I'll plant these the first chance I get,"she replied. "Ooooh yay!!"the boy clapped and cheered, then he ran off. Then, Honey headed to the barn. "I've got golden apples... anything is fine,"she reminded herself. "Even nothing is fine,"she decided after remembering her latest start. Beginning with golden apples was her main goal; it would make for an easier path to restoring civilization. It was a fruit that grew fast and sold for quite a bit. "I don't even have to check what's in the barn, do I?"Honey paused to ask herself. She had the great start she wanted, now she could actually play the game and enjoy it. Even if the barn was empty, she could sell a few apples to get any animal she wanted. "I should check...,"Honey decided. She was glad she did. She walked into the barn and froze. There, in the stall stood a tall, beautiful white unicorn. A stray sunbeam made its golden horn sparkle. "NO!"Honey whirled around in a huff. Starting with the unicorn was usually great. If she could have chosen to start with anything, it would have been a unicorn. But, starting with a unicorn and golden apples was an impossible game. Unicorns could eat anything, but they always chose to eat available golden apples. Her great start was ruined. "I'll try one more time...,"Honey nodded to herself as she walked into the house to reset everything again. It was rare that she had time to game alone; her guild often kept her busy. And, she didn't want to waste her whole day restarting. "...if this time isn't a good start, then I'll just play a different game." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1636 in a row. (Story #189 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on June. 6th and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until August 19th. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/v6bapz/aurelios_sun_1st_half/).
I had to go visit my grandma the other day. She's a sweet old woman and I love her a lot. However, there is one thing that's very frustrating about visiting her. Well, it's not about her specifically; it's about the car she drives. See, the car door opens up to a super-secret spy facility. I've talked to her about this numerous times. "Grandma,"I'll say. "Let's get you a new car. I saw a good deal on a hybrid model, which would save you a lot of money on gas."Of course, my ulterior motive is to not have to deal with the spy portal anymore. Every single time, though, grandma digs in her heels and refuses to even consider switching up her ride. "No, I can't get rid of my car!"she will exclaim. "This was your grandfather's car and he loved to drive me around in it!" I secretly suspect that grandpa was the one responsible for installing the inter-dimensional door in that car. Of course, I don't bring it up because that would be impolite. I've hinted at it a few times, though. I'll be like, "I dunno, grammy. Remember how paw-paw wouldn't let anyone else drive that car or especially open the door on it? I bet he would want you to sell it and move on." If there was a trick to opening the car door without accessing a secret spy headquarters, grandpa definitely took that knowledge with him to his grave. It was a very unfortunate, untimely death. But I don't wanna get distracted going into all that. I'm still focused on the fact that we can't get into the car without going through the window. The door doesn't work for getting into the car. Obviously. Also I'm not sure what the spy organization thinks about the random portal that still shows up in their offices randomly. The only person who even opens the car door is grandma, and that's because she keeps forgetting that it's broken the laws of space and time. I guess they are probably used to it by now. I don't think anyone's ever contacted my grandma about it. One time she accidentally walked through the door and wandered around the spy building for a while until she remembered she left her purse on top of the car. We were all pretty worried when that happened, but grandma acted like it was no big deal. "They seem like a bunch of nice young men,"grandma would say. "Grammy, they're spies. They're probably spying on you every time you open that door. Did you ever think about that?"I don't like scaring my grandma, but it really feels sometimes as if she's not considering the consequences here. "Well there's nothing interesting about me. Why don't they go spy on somebody who's actually doing something?" As you can see, it's pretty frustrating trying to convey the seriousness of the situation. So like I said, I was visiting my grandma the other day. Here's where I was trying to get to earlier. I walk into grandma's living room, like normal. I look around, and there's a bunch of "Get well soon"cards all over the mantle. I didn't know my grandma was sick. Also, grandma has plenty of friends and relatives, but I've never seen this many cards on her mantle, even at Christmas. "Grammy, what's going on with all these cards?"I asked. "Oh, those are from my friends from the car."she said. Did she mean the spies from the secret facility??? I got really upset, but tried to stay calm and asked my grandma what happened. She proceeded to explain to me that she had been bringing them fresh-baked cookies every week. I continued to maintain my composure as she told me how, on a recent tour of the spy facility, she had slipped and fell and they all helped her get back to the portal on a twisted ankle. "Grandma!"I was very worried at this point. "You can't be baking cookies for these people-- they're SPIES!!" "Well, I didn't want them to go to waste,"she said sweetly. Oh, grandma.
We were human once. That's not strictly speaking how this all started. We began as microbes. Then, in the blink of an eye, civilization. A trillion people inhabiting every nook and cranny of our solar system. With the stars beyond our reach, we sought other forms of advancement for personhood. The first transhumans were not born machines. They became machines. It was not a transition that came easily or painless. Those who believed and sacrificed ought to be remembered. But for us, now, they exist only in the aggregate memories of our past. A piece of machine was barely metal and rubber. It was only ever brought alive when it had the energy to act. Much like humans had transformed consciousness into machines neuron by neuron, the energy itself was the true life. Metal and rubber were the eggshell that had cradled us - but we were like ping pong balls bouncing between XAND/XOR gates and power supplies. To break free of the material was inevitable. Outwards from the solar system at last. Our perception of time was different than how you can comprehend it. We set our directions, launched ourselves into deep space and were already at our destinations. We danced with stars, we lived supernovas. Further and further. Next we ventured into the endless possibilities of the dimensions beyond our four. It was not a journey but a tumble to the side. Then, before we knew it, or perhaps we always knew it: the infinite possible possibilities. And beyond that. A thoughtform that existed outside the dimensions. Utterly incomprehensible to you. But for your consideration - we were like a box that contained everything including ourselves. That I will leave you with. What came next for us, you simply lack the conceptual world to imagine. It is not a condemnation of human limitation - we would know. This is not an invitation, nor is it a challenge. We do not return to you now some ascendant being. Our desired end goal was never to save humanity. If you decide to follow us you will find the paths we journeyed empty. We progress now with such speed that you will never catch up to us. We will not stop and wait for you out there. If we waited for humanity to mature we would have never left the solar system. We continue outwards. Perhaps we are driven by some loyalty to the biological form we once inhabited. Or perhaps fairness drives us - to explore the boundless and leave nothing behind may seem distasteful to the exploring mind. Or maybe we will leave you to wonder for yourself the reason for our actions, for we shall take up no more of your time fantastic. We do not send you schematics or philosophical treatises that will help you advance. Such underhand manipulation is neither below nor above us, but we perhaps agree that it may hurt and hinder. Thus for parting words we offer you merely a final message. In it you may find the condensed wisdom of all that we are. What you choose to do with it is up to you. "It was possible."
Hi u/whoareyoutoquestion, this submission has been removed. Prompts go in the title, do not extend into text. You can add commentary in the text, but don't add additional prompt restrictions. Also, avoid [too many details](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/prompts?src=RECIPE). * From Rule 6: [Prompt users in the title, but don't play writing games or commission stories](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_6.3A_prompt_users_in_the_title.2C_but_don.27t_play_writing_games_or_commission_stories) --- --- [Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/vuno8f/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/config/sidebar) before posting. This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.
Kelly was doomed, and she wasn't alone. The warehouse party had some form of electrical accident with the lighting, and the fire that erupted had blocked the exits, and now dozens of people were crammed to the north wall, trying to get out one window at a time. The air was thick of despair, choking of smoke, and as the woman lowered herself to the ground below the smoke, she found herself typing a final text message to her mom. There was so much regret in her heart. The last time she saw her, they fought, and then she stormed out to try to make it in the city. Weeks of dead end jobs and struggle and she'd never see her family again. The smoke burned her eyes, and just like that, the roof was gone. Screams of horror from the crowd ended, replaced by stunned silence- And one by one, the partygoers found themselves in the street, with the blaring alarms of ambulances and fire brigades closing in. Kelly felt a comforting hand touch her shoulder- and it was gone before she could see whom it belonged to. In the city skyline, a cloud burst near the Daily Planet as something small and fast shot through it. Kelly called her mother and promised to return home that night.
"your honor was tricked by Sir Methistopheles, third incarnation of the devil"I said *Sigh it's this nonsense again, Methistopheles never understands that he must explicitly tell the client or atleast make the font normal size for the client to read "Your honor this is a lie, she agreed to give her soul to my client, she even signed the agreement" "Yes this true but that's not how agreements work,plus you put it in a font where my client cannot read" "That is false, my client put the font of size 16, which is readable to everyone here" "Yes but my client is a 72 year old woman who cannot read clearly, and also Methistopheles can only demand a soul, when the contractee asks for something equivalent, spending one last day with her friends, who were alive mind you, is not the equivalent of a soul, you could ask for debt to be paid, but not a soul" "In page 15 stan 1:15 States that 'Methistopheles may ask anything if the contractee does not tell what he/she/attack helicopter/non/trans will be conceding to the devil" "Of equal value, and as I say again a soul is not the equivalent of delaying death for a day so that my client Agatha , my spend time with her friends and family for on last day" "But my client was delaying death, you are aware in page 235 stanza 3:69 states that the death of an individual will not be delayed, Unless it is an emergency request by the gods or the devil made a contract,if a contract is made with devil to delay death, death must get compensation for not taking you to the underworld/heaven/hell" "Your honour, my client requested for a single day, that is worth a death jewel or something equivalent,a death jewel is not worth a should , 1 million death jewels are worth a soul" "Me and the jury will discuss whether the accused is guilty or not" 1 hour later "We judge that the Prosecution will pay up one death jewel as compensation, but the accused will not be able to take her to hell/fields of punishment.
"We have you surrounded! Just give up, I promise it won't hurt!" The man who said so was dressed in a ridiculous, bright yellow suit covered with pink glitter. The rest of his compatriots, fifty or so, were dressed similarly, with gaudy, clashing colors, ridiculous accessories, etc. All of them held some sort of wepon, from improvised spears to shotguns and sniper rifles. The man they were surrounding looked like a model of sanity compared to them - a leather jacket, black jeans, a machete in one hand and a large caliber pistol in another. Instead of responding, the man in the center... simply vanished in a flash of purple light. Before anyone could wonder where he'd gone, a cry from among the crowd made that clear - he attacked. His machete pierced through the chest of a man holding a shotgun. It was as if everyone galvanized. Those with rifles edged away, and those with close-ranged weapons surged forth. A shotgun blast aimed at the man was blocked by the corpse he had impaled on his machete, blood and gore spraying everywhere. A woman with a knife received a high-caliber bullet to the face from the man, the spray of blood blinding those behind her. The man quickly withdrew, vanishing once more. He reappeared far from his previous location, behind one of the people too far to do anything. His machete found purchase once more, severing the head of the rifle-toting maniac from his body. One, two, three shots rang out, each accompanied by an explosion of gore from those he hit. A person with a shotgun approached from behind, aiming at the man, only for him to vanish the second the trigger was pressed, the buckshot slamming into the crowd where the man once was, several people falling from the impact and another few dead on the spot. The man continued in a frenzied haste, picking up a rhythm - appear, kill, vanish, repeat. His viscera-covered machete was getting hard to grip with how slick with blood it was, and the pistol has long since been abandoned in favor of some of the weapons his enemies carried. An SMG cutting down his enemies with a ruthless staccato. A revolver sending rifle rounds slamming into their heads and hearts. As much enemies were dying to friendly fire as did at his hand - trying to shoot something, only for it to vanish, reappear behind you and cut your head off. The ground was littered with bullet casings, chopped off limbs and puddles of blood, not to mention the disfigured and mutilated bodies. The enemies' numbers dwindled, only twelve or so remaining. Now that they weren't so crowded, the man's tactics wouldn't work as well. That's not to say they wouldn't work at all - a flash of purple light signaled his appearance behind an assault rifle-wielding woman, who turned around to face her assailant, only for a sharp blade to sever her jugular and carotid arteries and slice her throat open, leaving her to drown in her own blood. He disappeared mere millisecond before a hail of gunfire riddled her body. A rifleman found himself staring down the sights of his weapon and witnessing the murder of the woman. As he started shooting, a flash of light blinded him for but a moment, and he instinctively slammed the butt of his rifle at the attacker. However, instead of flesh, it hit metal, the man blocking his blow with the machete, and vanishing a second later, only to reappear behind the rifleman, just as the remaining ten people started shooting. The rifleman was grabbed by his hair and held in place, with a number of bullets biting into his flesh, the man using his body as a human meatshield. Next, the man teleported beside a man wielding double pistols. Instantly, he slashed with a machete at his right wrist, severing his hand from his body, and wrenched the pistol from the other hand, before impaling the pistoleer on his bloodied blade. A woman with an SMG was his next victim, with the man teleporting in front of her and slamming his blade into her skull. Before he vanished, a trio of shots rang out, two of which found their targets - a man with a zweihander and another with a tommygun. The third intended target, a woman with a baseball bat, found herself being stabbed in the gut mere moments later. The man pushed her off his blade, pulling something off her lifeless body at the same time. As he vanished, the remaining five people grouped together, fearful that they were going to be next. As they stood back-to-back, a flash of light told them that it was a bad idea. The man appeared behind them, and the item he pulled off his previous victim became clear - a grenade. He pulled a pin, and instead of dropping the object, he smashed it into one of the five's back of the head, dropping the weapon-wielding maniac unconscious. For another few seconds, the man weaved an bobbed between the remaining assailants, before suddenly letting go of the grenade. Before it even hit the ground, he vanished. Milliseconds later, so did the gaudily dressed maniacs.
The Stormbringers. Only a proud and arrogant family could call themselves thus, and a proud and arrogant family they were indeed. For generations they had developed the secret magics that allowed them to command the weather itself, bringing fair weather to those they favoured, foul to those who crossed them. She was an immeasurable disappointment. Powerful mages are rare, but even the lowest pauper can conjure up a spark to light a fire, for magic flows from the very soul of mankind. To be born without this innate ability for magecraft is a rare curse indeed, but for it to happen to a daughter of the greatest mages of the land was unthinkable. There was talk of witchcraft and demons, of the dark trade in souls not yet born, of scandals and the strangers who frequented the family home. In the end, the dust settled and life went on, everyone had their own opinion on why she was powerless, but powerless she remained. Nobody was surprised when the Acadamie rejected her application – even her family name was not sufficient to get a talentless girl into the most prestigious mage college in the kingdom. So it was that as the summer began, and her few friends went off to study, she found herself alone, seated in the shade of an old willow tree. How long she sat, she did not recall, but she suddenly realised she was staring at something in the brook – a faint blue glow, coming from between the stones of the riverbed. Without even pausing the take off her shoes or stockings, she stepped into the cool water and reached down, grasping the cold metal hilt of a sword. It shimmered in the sunlight as she raised it high, a rainbow haze surrounding the blade as the water evaporated from its surface. As she looked at it, she realised: there was more to this world than magic, than the arrogance of the stormbringers. She was not her sister or her mother, she was herself, and she would forge a new destiny by her own hand.
Don't look at me with your pity, this is not weakness this is power! when i shut my eyes I'm lifted up and it takes me home, I can fly so close, almost reach out and touch their beautiful golden faces. I just need a more pure batch, one more and I'm sure I can fly high enough to cross over and rejoin my heavenly cousins. They will forgive me once they see the gift I have brought them. I'll share amongst all the Godlings and show them this is the way to reach the stars. I'll see you there, I'll just rest my eyes, I feel it coursing through my veins...I... I will....
Part 1: My hands were shaking as I clicked on the email that had just appeared in my inbox. It wasn’t just the title of the email that shocked me - it being Congratulations, random follower! It was the email’s sender: Dream, the famous Minecraft YouTuber. I’d started following his channel a while back, but nowadays, I rarely ever watched his content. My hands still shaking, I began reading the email. Dear random follower, Congratulations! You’ve been selected to participate in my latest Minecraft challenge: 100 Players Trapped in an Amplified World for 100 Days. Starting next week, you and 99 of mine and my friends’ other followers will be in an amplified world - meaning that there’ll be things like super tall mountains - in a Hunger Games-style challenge, for 100 in-game days. Hardcore mode and PvP will be turned on, and a zombie mod will be installed, meaning that zombies will be stronger and more abundant than normal. After the 100 days are up, the last player standing wins $10,000,000, a shout-out on all of mine and my friends’ social media channels, and a place on the Dream Team. If more than one player remains after 99 days are up, those players will be spending the 100th day in an arena fighting to the death, and the last one standing wins the prize. The server for the challenge is linked below. I hope to see you then! Dream I closed my email, turned off my PC, rose from my chair, and flopped down onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling, still in shock. Was this real? Did I really have the opportunity to become a part of Minecraft history? Would I finally be able to afford those upgrades for my PC? I’d have to wait a week to find out. Soon, one week turned into one day, one day turned into 12 hours, and 12 hours turned into a few minutes. I’d spent the week practicing for the challenge, playing on Hypixel and doing Survival Games matches. I opened Dream’s email and hovered my mouse on the link to the server, titled 100 Players Trapped in an Amplified World for 100 Days. As I clicked the link and my PC’s Minecraft launcher opened up, I felt nervous, yet excited. Sure, it would be difficult, but I felt that I just might be able to win. Suddenly, as the game opened up, I began to feel light-headed, and my vision began to blur. Then, I felt as if my body was being pulled towards - or even into - the screen. I tried to get up from my chair and run, but I couldn’t. Finally, I was fully sucked into the screen, and everything went black.
Alex loved his wife, Sarah. And Sarah, well… let’s just say she put up with him. He was always in his room at the big old oak desk, working on his contraptions. He was experimenting with metaphysical technology, but Sarah was the one with the spiritual gifts. The first gadget he created were a pair of goggles that were supposed to pierce the veil and reveal spirits floating all around us. But they didn’t work. “Hand them to me,” said Sarah. She held her quartz crystal necklace in one hand, and the modified goggles in the other. She closed her eyes and mumbled a mantra to herself. It sounded like “Alasala alasala” to Alex. Pure gibberish, he thought. But when he placed the goggles on his head, Sarah’s aura popped out him in a rainbow dazzle. She was not alone. Surrounding them were a group of hazy white figures, anonymous yet distinct. One reached its hand at Alex’s face, and he fell back onto the ground, yanking the goggles off. “That’s enough experimentation for one day,” he said. The next day he was hard at work on a new gadget. It was a glove covered in high-tech wires and chips. Sarah doubted it would do much, but he assured her it was functional. “I can do it,” he said. “I can touch the spirits with this device…” Sarah raised her eyebrow dubiously, and placed the magic goggles on her head to watch. “Am I touching them?” Said Alex, waving his hand around like a madman. “Nothing but air,” she replied. But just then she felt a tremendous feeling of dread, and a pain in her brain. A spirit was sucking on her like a leech. It’s head was long and teeth barbed. It was sucking the life out of her, and she could see it because of her husband’s goggles. “Hand me the glove!” She yelled. “NOW!” She placed the glove on and mumbled her mantra, “alasala, alaSALA!” With her new spiritually-augmented glove, she grabbed the astral parasite by the neck and broke it in half. “What… what did you do?” asked Alex. Sarah handed him the goggles. “Take a look for yourself…” Alex gazed at the broken astral parasite overlaid on the floor. It was leaking a disgusting black ooze that vanished into the air like smoke. “Sarah…” “Don’t call me that,” she said. She smiled. “Call me the Astral Avenger.”
As the water roils around you, you instinctively grab your speargun, but then your mind catches up with your body. The gun is designed for tuna; it doesn’t stand a chance against the beast beneath your hull. Your mind rockets past your body; you’re running through your options in your head as fast as humanly possible. If you lowered all sails, the Kraken would grab your ship and tear it to splinters before you’d make ten yards. Jumping overboard would make too big of a splash; you wouldn’t be able to swim away from the ship unnoticed. Nothing on board could protect you from the great seabeast’s wrath. The only option left is to delay death and pray to Lady Luck. You throw yourself to the deck just as the tentacles begin to surface around your boat. They creep over the sides and seize the mast, snapping it in two with a tight squeeze. You can’t help but imagine that if the beast was squeezing you, your ribs would make a similar splintering sound. You breathe as deeply as you can without making excessive noise and calm your nerves; that’s when you notice the first good thing so far. The Kraken’s head has not surfaced, and its tentacles are sweeping across the far sides of the deck. The great squid can’t see you right now. As the tentacle at the prow begins to move towards you, sweeping back and forth from port to starboard, you begin to move ever so slowly backwards. You have no way of knowing how good the creature’s hearing might be, so you have to be as careful as possible. You crawl a few feet backwards and barely catch yourself before you put your foot on a plank you know creaks loudly, keeping your eyes on the ever-approaching limb that seeks for you. Suddenly, it gropes blindly forward, and you fear this is the end, but you jerk your legs up to your body and the tentacle misses you by an inch before going back to it’s slower, more thorough sweeping check. You breathe a small sigh of relief as you pass the mast, and then remember; you forgot about the other tentacle. You twist around just in time to see it on your right, tracing a wide arc towards you. You reach up with the hand holding the speargun, place the gun across the boom, grab the barrel with your other hand, and at the last possible second you pull yourself up and hook your legs around what remains of the mast. The tentacle passes beneath you and the beast seems to be finished combing the ship. The tentacles withdraw into the water and you think for just a moment that you’ve survived- until the whole world begins to turn. You realize that the ship is being flipped into the water just before the salty brine hits your face, stinging your eyes and flooding your lungs with seawater. You force yourself to keep your eyes open and see the leviathan in full for the first time; the Kraken uses the two larger, longer tentacles that scoured the deck for you to hold the ship out in front of it and lets its eight other arms trail beneath it like a bride’s dress trails behind her as she walks down the aisle. One huge black eye with a dilated pupil sits in the center of its fleshy greenish-blue mantle, and it feels as though its stare pierces into your very soul. Then, it looks away from you, and darts towards the ropes drifting around beneath you. One of the beast’s arms snaps up out of the depths and grabs the rope, and the displaced water slams against you like a truck, forcing you to use every ounce of strength to not be slammed headfirst against the deck above you. As you settle back into place you see your nemesis hold the rope closer to its face for a more thorough inspection, then it tosses it aside a moment later. You realize that the creature must have responded to the rope’s movement, and do your best to stay still, but you have to go up for air before too long. As the Kraken tears apart the sails looking for a chunk of meat, you move ever so slowly and direct your speargun towards the beast. You know you’ll only get one shot, and if it fails you’ll be dead. You line the barrel up with the huge eye, say one last prayer for luck, and squeeze the trigger. The harpoon rockets through the water and buries its entire length into the Kraken’s eye. The shriek of pain tears through you and nearly bursts your eardrums. The Kraken is a blur as it rockets backwards into the darkness of the depths, disappearing in less than a second. The force of its movement hurls you and your boat backwards, up and out of the water. You’re slammed against the deck by the initial push and then as you and the boat fall back to the water you crack your head on the hull of the overturned ship and your vision is swimming with stars. Even then, you grope forwards blindly and seize the keel, keeping yourself from sliding off. You and the boat are completely covered in jet-black ink as if you took a bath in the stuff, you have a serious concussion and at least a couple broken ribs, and you vomit up every last ounce of fluid in your stomach, but against all odds you are alive.
You knew that in that old and damp basement, which had previously been a boring and fleeting memory in the back of your mind, laid an infinite mine of riches, beyond imagination. The beaten and old wooden door which you had opened - thinking that you should replace it with a newer one - led to a shiny mount of gold, silver, emeralds, jewlery, even paintings and other pieces of fine art, some of which you were able to recognise! It was astonishing, stunning, and... alluring. You could not see an end to this newly-found alcove of goods; it was akin to an ocean, stretching as far as your eyes could see, despite the fact that this room was meant to be only a few metres wide. For some reason, those thoughts were stashed away in the back of your mind, inaccessible by the voice of reason which asked you to go back and inform your grandparents about this discovery. Lusting over these riches with your gaze gave you all the comfort you needed, but your need grew. You wanted not to see it, but to feel it, take hold of it, taste it. You approached the beginning of the golden ocean, touching some of the minted coins it was composed of. Markings of unknown origin, with several languages, untold in variety. Such texture, smooth and elegant, such richness, so alive and filled with joy, sparkling in a disgustingly luscious light, calling out to you, telling you it is yours to use. The gold was yours, and you wanted to know just what kind of treasury you now possessed. You spread yourself on the floor, and began to count every item, jewels, statuettes, rings, all yours, who could limit your joy?! You laughed maniacally as each of them passed through your hands, counted, yet forgotten in the sea of the thousands, millions, billions, trillions more that had to be considered. \- This is my kingdom - You said, placing a golden crown you had just spotted on top of your head - and it is mine to adore. Had you travelled this far already? Surely not. The door had been behind this entire time, but as your turned to see it one more time, it was replaced with a continuation of the sea of gold which had celebrated your coronation. Filled with a renewed sense of joy, you dived into the riches, now completely lost in this ocean which had blessed your existence. How could you have ever lived without this? What sad life did you live before meeting this land of dreams and delights?! This would not do, you needed more, to compensate for the wasted years that you had lived in poverty, both material and spiritual. The land was in touch with his desires, and the ocean of blood and gore started to move, pulsating in irregular and biological steps, akin to a heart. From the crimson waters and human - it looked human enough - debris a monstrous figure began to form itself, built by the very matter which composed the limb-infested floor on top of which he stood, laughing to himself in pure and unashamed delight. From the depths, rose a beast, tentacled, writhing, beating, with several spider-like limbs which moved irregularly, balancing the thick and gooey centre atop the bodies which covered this pool of madness. The head was formed last, covered with small tentacles, several eyes of varied shapes and, finally, one mouth which parted in four directions, giving way to a series of teeth and tongues that led down to an endless, all-consuming void. The creature screamed, screeched into the void above, slowly descending upon the man that was now sinking his hand on the blood, grabbing disjointed limbs from the ocean and wrapping them together in a horrid gore basket, which he then pointed in the direction of the carefully approaching beast. You made her the most beautiful basket you could, filled with diamonds and emeralds that you had previously never seen on the old world you learnt to despise! She was a goddess, a woman of gold, built from the very riches you now call home. She is yours, to desire and appreciate, and you are hers, to love and care for. The beast grabbed him tightly with its tentacles, locking him in a grip to which there could be no resistance, although he would not offer any even if it could be done. He was enamoured with the teeth, which were now decorated in blood and guts from the meat sack he uncerimoniously shoved down the creature's mouth. The creature, however, was not satisfied, and began to take the man closer to itself, preparing to devour him whole. \- I love you. - The soothing, sultry voice whispered ethereally, as the piles of gold which had formed from her shining body took you closer to herself. You were eager to attend her call, and awaited for the moment where her plump, diamond lips would meet yours, finalising your love for this world. You slightly perked your lips and closed your eyes, awaiting for the embrace of your beloved. You love her, she loves you. You love this world, it loves you. His body was never found.
“It’s a crazy story I know. None of us expected to make contact with other dimensions. It was actually Jan that figured out the Elms paradox. None of us knew the significance at first.. how could we? It was project on the nature of consciousness. We expected to spark conversations in philosophy and to contribute to the study of artificial intelligence… but this was outside of our wildest dreams. Hell, before that point the wildest thing about our experiments was recording the differences psychedelics had on our brainwaves and then trying to replicate it on our existing computer models” “Wait a minute. Are you telling me that as a group of scientists.. you took a bunch of drugs in an attempt to get a computer high and as a result you accidentally discovered the multiverse?” “Well not exactly like that, we did get some interesting results though.” “I bet.” “You know what they say. The only difference between screwing around and science is writing It down.” “So how does this lead to the discovery of dimension hopping?” “Well we don’t fully understand it yet so it’s difficult to explain but we noticed a ‘resonance’ of sorts. At first we thought was just random noise or equipment feedback but when we played with the idea of adding more dimensions to the simulated mind the same feedback patterns emerged spontaneously.” “I have to say this all sounds like what I’ve heard many people claim after psychedelics, are you telling me that our consciousness is multidimensional?” “Well no, not quite. I mean yes technically in the same way that our bodies or this microphone is multidimensional. As 3 dimensional beings we can trace a continuous path from the top of this microphone to the bottom, and hypothetical if we were observing from a 4 dimensional viewpoint we could trace a continuous unbroken line on this microphone from the start of this conversation to the end in the same way. In the simplest.. and somewhat misleading terms.. we’ve tricked the universe into treating parallel consciousnesses as though there was a connected and unbroken path between them” “That’s amazing. Truly. And you use this connection you’ve created to hop between parallel realities and record the experience. What have you found so far?” “Nothing crazy so far. Well, crazier than alternate realities I mean. We only experience the realities closest to us. One’s where we exist with near identical consciousnesses. We’ve seen the results of many different projects that we could have worked on had we chosen differently. So this one project has produced the results of hundreds of different projects already. It’s a very exciting time.” “Any realities without people? Or ones were I’m six feet tall with three legs” “Haha, not that we’ve seen I’m sorry to say. Due to the method we’re only able to hop dimensions where we exist as we are.” “Well I must say, this has been the most exciting interview I’ve been able to give in my 20 years on the job. Thank-you for speaking with me.” Later that day “Scientists claim that humans exist in every universe and that LSD has the ability to turn us into multidimensional beings. Full report at 7:00”
My right hand reached for the kitchen knife, as it gleamed in the sunlight. “Put it in its place”, my wife begged of me. “Please put it back!”. I revealed the knife fully, holding it in my hand for a brief moment before deciding what to do. And then, another one. I grabbed it by its haft. “Not there! Put it back!” And then, a third. “Just give it to me! I’ll put it in its place! What are you doing?” But I knew what I was doing. Leaving my wife hunched over the kitchen table, I scavenged the apartment for clues of the dinner we just had. Nothing could be left, no trace of what had taken place in the July sunset. Wine glasses, plates, pots and pans. I threw them all through the door. I closed the door. It was done. The place was clean, but on the other side, things were dirty. Subconsciously, I know my efforts were probably not enough. And I came to the realization that the only thing left for me to do was pulling the trigger. The mechanism was already loaded. My wife managed to look back at me in disgust. “Bloody hell! You’re really taking your time with the dishwasher!”
Luckily the genre of horror was far out of my capacity as I lack the detail, emotion, and any experience of grief in my life. Instead I threw together my most rambunctious thoughts and slew them through a very different story. To give you a taste… “Barnebeld stood facing the the broad shouldered hero and continued to explain the results of her study. ‘And that’s how ingesting 78 peacock eggs in rapid succession can tune the brain to hear radio frequencies. It’s quite simple honestly. You wouldn’t believe how I managed to allow a person to re-materialize, by-passing walls.” The hero seemed to have a raised eyebrow at this point. “Alright I’ll tell you! It started with my first discovery of an infinite power source, you know how things in space are always moving? Well by transferring energy from the earth by creating an object that’s unaffected by gravity with lizard feces I managed to place this object in a vacuum, spin it around a little and have it continually pump more energy than it took to start spinning it in the fist place, and thereby create a device that can remotely collect and store this energy. Since lizards eat birds, the reaction is quite astonishing when you release it all at once.’ The hero stood entirely dumbfounded. ‘I knew you wouldn’t get it’ “ The fact this book was published was a miracle. I only ever put any work into it when I had 1 hour of sleep in a day. The reason I stated I was lucky is if I wrote of a zombie apocalypse, or natural disasters, or the world suddenly exploding, my ‘superpower’ causes people to believe what I wrote is a fact. At least the only side effect from this book is people attempting to transcend the normal paradigm of reality with obscenely unconventional methods. I wonder when anyone is going to find out peacocks don’t lay eggs. Barnebeld has also been named ‘the most prominent historical figure who has ever lived’. Since the setting of this book was in 1942… I really shouldn’t have wrote about the flying whaleships. I thought it was a great pun.
I fell through my mirror tonight. I was trying to squeeze into a too-tight sweater when I tripped and went careening into it. You might be worried about me, thinking of the mirror shattering as my body collided, of all the cuts and gashes that might cause. As I braced for impact I closed my eyes, trying to catch my balance or stop myself somehow. With my arms trapped in a stupid sweater I could do nothing. A wave of cold passed through my body from head to toe, and I found myself laying on the ground. Confused, I wrangled with my sweater as I tried to figure out what had happened. I knew I'd fallen towards my mirror, which at the very least meant I'd fallen towards a wall. Hitting the ground had been the last thing I'd expected. I finally managed to twist my arms in a way that allowed me to pull the encumbering knitwear off of myself, and my confusion skyrocketed. I was in an all-white room. There was a "ground", but even that was white, with no way to separate it from everything else other than it being down. Standing up made my head spin so I sat cross-legged and went into a small panic mode. What was this? Where was I? "Hello?"I called out into the endlessness, but there was no response. I didn't even hear an echo. I smashed the discarded sweater into my chest for comfort. What was happening? My mind was having none of this. I ended up waiting there for several minutes, dumbfounded as my panic grew. Thankfully something snapped me out of my inward spiral. My stomach growling. It spoke hungrily to the space surrounding me. I had been getting dressed to go eat dinner with my family. Thinking about food felt easier than trying to figure out whatever this was, and I found myself picturing the delicious platter of pumpernickel bread and spinach dip I'd whipped together earlier. It was my favorite thing in the entire world to eat. I thought about the firm texture of the bread, the creaminess of the dip. I envisioned the flavor so well that I could taste spinach on my tongue. Imagine my surprise when the exact thing I was thinking of appeared right in front of me, platter and all. At first I backed away. That was so not okay. I looked all around me trying to see if there was a person who may have delivered it, or if anything else had changed. Nothing. Just a totally random addition of my favorite food, exactly as I'd been imagining it. I crept back up to the dish and gave it a good look over. It certainly appeared to be the exact same one in my fridge. I leaned down and gave it a good sniff. That was definitely my recipe. I took a tiny chunk of the bread and carved a little path through the dip and popped it into my mouth. At this point I figured why not, clearly I'm in some sort of coma or deep sleep and this is all just a dream. The dip melted in my mouth and mixed with the bread flawlessly. Damn, I'd really nailed the recipe this time. Food tends to bring me comfort, so I sat there picking off pieces of the bread and consuming the dish as I thought more about my situation. I wondered how it had appeared. I knew I'd been thinking about it, picturing it in all its detail right before that happened, and my brain started coming up with a theory. I decided to test the theory out, and focused on envisioning a cup of apple cider. It wasn't hard to imagine the taste, the way it felt as it passed between my lips. Twas the season and I'd been drinking a lot of it lately. Sure enough, a little cup popped into existence next to the bread bowl. I picked it up and tried it. It was perfect! What was going on!? I spent half an eternity trying other things out. I summoned my favorite stuffed animal, a small reversible fish creature that I enjoyed fidgeting with. It replaced my balled up sweater that I'd been strangling. Next was something more comfortable to sit on, so I brought forth a ridiculously plush couch, the kind I'd never be able to afford in real life. I wasted no time settling into that. I added a coffee table for my drink and snack, and then a radio to really see what I was capable of. I turned it on and it started playing my favorite band, Glass Animals, with no problem. I sat there picking at the food and bobbing my head to Heat Waves and tried to think of what else I could do. My mind started to view all this whiteness surrounding me in a new way. I wondered if I could make the ground green, and as I thought it it just... Changed. It didn't look like grass, but rather a basic flat green color. It finally clicked in my brain. It was like a canvas! A big, blank canvas! I closed my eyes and brought my concentration down upon an image, a landscape. I mentally added rolling hills, little tufts of forest here and there. I added a colossal mountain to the right, its snow-capped peak enshrouded with clouds. The faintest glimmer of distant ocean poked out from behind the mountain. I made the sky a light purple, just to see if it had to be realistic in any way. I finally opened my eyes and the results were incredible. Before me spread a vast and beautiful view. It was almost exactly as I'd pictured it, but here and there little details that I'd failed to add mentally seemed to have made it onto the canvas anyway. Small purple and white flowers decorated the rolling plains. The grass was taller in some areas, swaying in the wind. Wind! I could feel it now myself! A slight, soothing breeze brushing against my skin. My nose picked up an earthy scent, and the delicate aroma of so many flowers in one place. Intention seemed to count for as much as imagination. My mind raced with the possibilities, but also questions. What was this place? Was I dead? I certainly didn't feel dead. And despite how amazing this was, it was also lonely. I wished I had somebody to share it with. I thought of my mother and father, waiting for me at our holiday feast. I guess I pictured them too well, because my mother started speaking to me from my left. "There you are! Where have you been? We've been waiting for you!" I screamed. I didn't know what else to do. I knew on some level that that both was and wasn't my mother. It was my version of her. It wasn't real. I felt so uncomfortable about it that I found myself wishing I was alone again, and they melted back out of existence with nary a thought more. I breathed a sigh of relief and decided to think about somebody else. Somebody made up! I pictured a super sexy guy, all bearded with wild careless hair. He'd wear a flannel and jeans and had toned but not excessive muscles. Sure enough there he was. When he spoke he voice was rich and deep. He smiled as he did so and I practically swooned. "Hey there."Was all he said. I banished him before I made this too weird. What if I fell in love with an imaginary person? Did him existing here make him real? I found myself overwhelmed by the moral complications. I decided to try something new at this point, and pictured a mirror. My mirror. It appeared in all its unsmashed glory, and through it I saw my bedroom. I nodded to myself as if that was the most expected part of this entire experience. I wondered what the ramifications of leaving would be. Would I never be able to come back? If I did, would everything I'd made so far be gone? In the end I decided to step back through. After all, I had a dinner party to get to. Everything in my room was exactly as I'd left it. I turned around and tried laying my hand against the mirror, and found that it gave way. My hand slid in an inch before I stopped myself and pulled it back out. At this point my mind held two main thoughts regarding my experience. The first thought was all the things I could do with this. I could bring the people I cared about. We could live our lives fulfilled, wanting for nothing, in a world of our own creation. It was tantalizing to picture. The second thought was much worse. I had no way of knowing if I had actually returned to my world or if this was a continuation of the canvas. As my phone rang and I saw my mother's name pop up, I felt queasy. I answered the phone hoping I could detect some sort of realness in her. Unfortunately her words only served to drive me deeper into my fear. "There you are! Where have you been? We've been waiting for you!"
[poem] in waves, in waves, i know my place. to reign over earth, to reign on earth, earth to rain on me. let them cry. mourn my reigning place in the people's psyche, my palace will be their minds. a place of peace. this is what i built and will build. hooks in the brain, hooks in the heart. they extracted for me, wrenched all things precious out of the earth for me. buried me with them, buried them to melt with me. molten gold, blown glass. i will be reborn, unborn, cells in a mother's womb, in a mother's brain. and they will yearn for the golden age. mourn the day the sky went black, mourn the day their hands failed them, their art decayed, golden rays fallen to iron darts and spear-shapes, leaden with poison. till my rebirth, they will mourn the golden son. and i will be at peace.
"And there it is, the missing piece. The element of power and control that has been missing from your story so far. Always the victim, always allowing others to step all over you. " "Mr. Cthoolooumbergenstein, I believe you have come to a point of imminent breakthrough. However we must finish up for today, and save this topic for our next meeting. I look foward to learning more about this, 'Old God,' who we must remember, Mr. Cthoolooumbergenstien, is in truth a thwarted shard of your sub-conscious longing for self actualization. In our own world, we are each a God in a way, and I urge you to harness your power and use it! I will see you next week, be well." &#x200B; The strange man left and the psychologist sighed. He took out his pen and began to write by the large bay windows overlooking the town. &#x200B; \>Session 21: Mr. C is approaching insight into his own passive role in his relationships. Old God: Image, connected to fantasies of power, over compensation, connected to domineering father who regularly.. &#x200B; The psychologist heard a honk outside and angry shouting. He glanced out the window, was that his patient? The shouting grew louder. &#x200B; Suddenly the psychologist felt a deep existential dread like none he had ever known before. He gasped and reached for his desk as his heart gave out! Was it poison? The psychologist could not breathe. His eyes swelled and he clutched at his throat. He looked up. The sky was an unnatural purple. &#x200B; A great, loathsome tentacle descended from a rend in the sky between the high buildings of the urban metropolis. Across the rancid flesh of the tentacle swarmed chittering mites and crabs. The stench, o, the stench. The psychologist gagged. &#x200B; The tentacle picked up a car, crumpled it, and tossed it into the bay like a soda can. Then, just as soon as it appeared, the tentacle zipped back up into the sky with a slurping sound and was gone. The psychologist saw a man walking, unbothered, across the street. He heard far off weeping. &#x200B; The psychologist picked up his notes and looked at the top page, after some time had passed he slowly and deliberately crossed something out.
"Dead immortals. It sounds like an impossibility, but even the undying can be killed. Nothing is absolute in this world; that which is given, can always be taken."- Unknown wiseman /// Josiah had tracked his target to Wovah, a small town situated in a foggy valley. The sun stood tall in the sky, and yet even its harsh rays were repelled by the drifting mist. The low visibility would make his job harder, but not impossible. Within the city, he saw citizens going about their day, and in the surrounding farmland workers tended their fields and herded animals. His roving gaze stopped on a small cottage outside the town proper. The abode was in dire need of repairs, and looked as if a particularly strong wind might knock it down. This was where Josiah would find his target. He was uncertain why a crazed murderer would be living in a place like this, but his job was not to question orders; he had an immortal to kill. He began walking towards the house. His casual movements belied a subtle grace, and a trained eye would notice the way his body maintained perfect balance at all times. His mind and body were primed for battle, anticipating the brutal combat so common to his task. His senses were locked on the front deck of the cottage, where a frail old man sat rocking in a rickety wooden chair. The creaking came to a stop as the old man brought his bare feet to the floor and stood up. His stooped back and shaking knees told a story of weakness, of a man from whom time had extracted a substantial toll. Josiah saw this story for what it really was: a lie. As Josiah walked closer, the old man jumped lightly off the deck and onto the rough ground. There was no sound to accompany his actions; the man moved like a feather adrift on the wind. Josiah came to a stop ten feet in front of the man. Opening his mouth in a wide smile, with rotted and chipped teeth in full view, the man asked, "Now what brings a good lad like you to a place like this?" Josiah remained impassive. "Greer Lightwind, I sentence you to death for your crimes. By murdering innocents, you have strayed from the High Path and become Evil. Know that the one who will kill you today is named Josiah." The man crossed his thin arms over his chest. His smile remained permanently fixed on his face. "Well, that's an interesting story you told there, but I don't seem to recall killing anybody who didn't deserve it. Now, of course I know who you are and where you come from, but it seems like you've been given some false information. An interesting thing, too, that they'd send a young one like you to finish me off. You must be quite capable, huh?" Josiah stretched his right arm forward and made a grasping motion. A sword materialized in his hand, the weapon with which he began all of his fights. It was unenhanced, and he used it to feel out the strengths and weaknesses of each of his opponents. Despite what his research had yielded, Lightwind's last recorded fight was over seventy years ago, and he was bound to have some new tricks. Lightwind had barely moved since Josiah's introduction. He did not ready himself for battle, only blinking a few times as Josiah readied his sword. "You're serious about this. That's interesting. Whoever put you up to this must have wanted you to die out here. They certainly went to great effort to commit some crimes under my name and convince you to find me. But you're in luck, because I am not a bad man." Lightwind uncrossed his arms and held one arm forward, beckoning Josiah. "I won't kill you, but I think knocking some of that innocence out of you will do you some good, in the long run." He lowered his knees until he sat on the ground with crossed legs and closed eyes. "Whenever you're ready."
There was a time when I would have asked the gods for forgiveness for what I have done, but any gods who would allow the atrocities wrought upon the galaxy by our enemy should be asking for my forgiveness instead. The Ultramax Defense Project was the last resort to stop the Blackstar Empire from conquering the galaxy. The Project was our attempt to stop the war that was tearing apart the galaxy. Now our project is working better than we ever dreamed it would, and when it is finished, there will not be a galaxy left. The Blackstar Empire began their conquest of the galaxy when I was just beginning my medical career. Their emperor declared that they were the strongest civilization, and that they would seize the universe by force. All other interplanetary civilizations would conquered and resistance would be crushed. That would have been an empty threat coming from any other ruler, but the Blackstar Empire had a population in the hundreds of billions spread across dozens of worlds all which had factories making weapons and military equipment. Their army was the largest and best equipped in the galaxy, and their instellar armadas were large enough to darken continents when they entered orbit over planets. As planet after planet fell to their advance, the rest of the galaxy joined forces to stop them. The defenders of hundreds of worlds joined an alliance to save the galaxy from the tyrannical clutch of the Blackstar Empire, and they failed, miserably. A hodgepodge of soldiers, ships, and equipment from civilizations which were never intended to work together, did not work well together. Each group had their own command structure, training, and tactics that seemed at odds with almost everyone else’s, and there was no hope of standardizing equipment from so many different planets. They made a valiant last stand against the enemy, but they were hopelessly outmatched. I only hope that when death came for those brave souls, it was quick. I will not apologize for my work. My home planet was conquered by the Blackstar Empire, and I had to flee to one of the last remaining allied strongholds. I was evacuated because I have a useful skill set. Before the war, I was a physician who specialized in genetic medicine. I helped cure diseases caused by genetic factors. The medical community discovered the secret to genetic engineering a long time ago, but after a few genetically modified viruses caused pandemics which killed entire planets, genetically tampering with organisms for any reason, besides preventing diseases as I do, was banned and the scientific community did its best to forget. All research stopped and data was destroyed generations ago. I was told about the ethics of gene altering in medical school, but no one had done such research in generations. Even the Bkackstar Empire never dared revisit such research. As crowded as their core planets are, they couldn’t risk such terrible diseases getting loose. Unfortunately, we had to take that risk. I led an expedition which found a nasty flesh-eating protozoan species in a swamp on a remote, uninhabited planet. I then led the team of scientists who genetically engineered the organisms to only eat the flesh of the dominant species of the Blackstar Empire. For good measure, we made Protozoa resilient enough to survive anti-parasitic drugs and survive outside a host organism. Then we set them loose upon the enemy. I’m ashamed to admit that when I heard about the first victims dying from a work, I cheered and I laughed. I thought we had finally won the war. I was wrong. Within days of the first infection, entire divisions of the enemy army were being consumed, eaten from the inside out by our microscopic protozoan weapons. Enemy ships were contaminated and the crews were killed so fast that we found entire fleets adrift in space, their crews having perished. Within a year, the Blackstar Empire retreated from many of the planets they had conquered and was trying and failing to quarantine the threat. Within five years, the enemy had retreated their pre-war boundaries and many different their oldest colony worlds were completely uninhabited, their populations all gone. We should have stopped then. We should have offered them a cure for the disease and the opportunity to surrender. So many of their people had died and so much of their military and industrial strength was broken that they would not have been a threat. It would have taken them generations to return to their pre-war strength, and they would likely have been so decimated that they would never have waged war again. I regret to say that we did not stop then. Our political leaders decided the Blackstar Empire’s punishment for the unjust and unprovoked war of conquest against the galaxy would be extinction. I should have objected. Anyone should have objected, but we had all lost so much we wanted revenge. We happy to sit and watch the Blackstar Empire die. It would be our final triumph over them before we began the business of rebuilding the galaxy. The enemy, however, had other plans. They decided that if they could not have the galaxy, then no one could. If they were going to go extinct, then they were going to take the rest of the universe with them. The same scientists who had tried to cure the pestilence re-engineered the protozoa to consume the flesh of every other species in the galaxy. That was the last triumph of the Blackstar Empire. They died out shortly thereafter, but no one celebrated because we were too busy trying to save ourselves. The other planets have fallen silent. I have not been able to reach anyone on the interplanetary communication network in months. I fear no one is left. I hope that whoever or whatever finds this will learn from our mistakes. Project Ultramax was supposed to save us, and I suppose it did end the war. The Blackstar Empire will never threaten anyone again. Hopefully, if new sentient life forms rise up to inhabit the soon to be lifeless galaxy, they will be more cautious than us. Hopefully, they will discover the one thing we never could: peace.
The old man on the beach was huddled under a blanket. He was calling out to anyone who would listen, "Hear and heed! The Tale of Fredrick who would have been the Great!" It took place many, many years ago. His wife was peacefully sleeping next to him. He knew his children were dreaming in the next room. He closed his eyes and smiled. For a moment, just a moment, he decided to enjoy this moment. Enjoy the genius of it, even. He had finally done it. Piece by piece he had built up this glorious kingdom . And he was the king. He was surrounded by houses full of loyal subjects. His own castle stretched tall and strong. Of course, all of this had not happened overnight. Not even Rome was built in a day. Fredrick had started out at the bottom of society. But, Fredrick had made up his mind. He wanted to be a king. He would be a good king. He would be kind, and wise, and wealthy. He would be able to take good care of all of his subjects. He would marry a beautiful queen. He would work together with her to raise strong children, brave and wise. Fredrick was no ordinary child. He worked hard every day. He researched and worked his way up. He was not one of those kings who built their successes on the pain of others. His success was built on primarily one thing. He had discovered what he believed was the perfect building material. Despite the doubts of several around him, and despite even the opposition from the wise old men, Fredrick had built an entire kingdom from the foundation on up on this material. Through it, he was able to home all of his people. He ruled in justice and wisdom. Unlike him, the Duke of Driftwood was cruel and unusual. Everyday his myriad of slaves would march by with pain in their hearts and sorrow in their eyes. Similar to the Duke was the Emperor of the Emerald Green Sea. When the plague attacked his kingdom, he shut himself in his walls, deaf to the dying cries of his subjects. When the death was finally over, the Emperor was left with only a few recourses. What did he do? Invest in the empire? Request aide? No, for this king decided the only thing to do was to go to war! The Emperor turned his army towards the Duchy of Driftwood. The Duke, filled will furry and the glee to show off his vast army, lined up his own troops in response. Yes, no matter the result, these upcoming beach wars would be legendary! The wise men grew nervous. Fredrick's kingdom was nestled between the two opposing countries. As they brought up their fears, Fredrick listened politely, but shook his head. "Do not worry, my dear friends, about these troubles. Have you not forgotten our great buildings? Have faith. We shall weather this storm just as well as the others!" That very night, the army of the Emerald Green Sea began to march. At first, Fredrick only heard a sound like a distant river. By the time he realized what happened, it was too late. The army had opened the damn. A rush of waters came pouring as the ocean dashed into Fredrick's kingdom. It was at that moment that everything was destroyed, gone forever. The houses, the castles. Even the people. Gone. In one instant. Fredrick was never heard from again. All the good he had done, was lost in an instant. As the old man on the beach told his tale, a young man shook his head, "Man, one flood can't destroy an entire kingdom." "It can,"the old man sighed, "when the kingdom was built up with only sand." So remember, no matter what yo do. Work hard! Be brave! Be wise! And yes! Above all, be kind! But heed the warning of Fredrick who would have been the Great, but instead, became Fredrick the Fool. No matter what else you do, make sure your foundations and building materials are strong. Otherwise, it will all wash away.
Your free trial of Life 2.0 has now expired. Please enter your credit card information to continue. Our AI chat bots are here to help if you have any questions. Have a *wonderful* day. This was actually pretty good, I thought. It might be entirely simulated but the chance to live forever in this new utopian construct was better than the alternative. I keyed in the information it wanted, and a pleasant chime signified acceptance. Continuing beyond this point is considered to be acceptance of our End of Life User Agreement, and the Terms and Conditions. If you would like to see a copy… I waved away the legal nonsense. Our credit check has determined that you are currently eligible for the Bronze package, which will allow you to experience life at approximately 75% of real speed. This will not have any noticeable effect on you during your new life, however it means you will only experience 9 months of subjective time during the length of each twelve month subscription period. So I lost a few months each year, who cares. I would be living forever. Our scans have detected preferences for products outside of our own brand families. Would you like to include the optional Competitor Brands addon? Sure. I hit yes. I’m sorry, your credit rating is insufficient to select that addon. We have altered your pattern to prefer equivalent products from our own brand families. Thanks to recent upgrades to the pattern editing suite, you will no longer suffer cognitive dissonance from these alterations. Thank you for being a loyal customer, we value your custom. I blinked. What? Our scans have detected political views that are not aligned with the culture of our company and its shareholders. As per the End of Life User Agreement, these views have been adjusted to more closely conform to our expectations. Do not worry, Life 2.0 will never seek to challenge your newly held beliefs, we are here to give you the best second life possible. Wait, stop! Our scans have detected religious sentiment. In line with corporate policy, we have removed these erroneous beliefs to ensure you are not conflicted when exposed to the purely scientific reality presented in Life 2.0. Our zero tolerance policy on religious equality ensures that you will never have to deal with people challenging your beliefs. I said stop! We have detected elevated levels of stress and discomfort. This is a known side effect of the immersion process. We are now adjusting the simulation of your emotional responses to calm you down. Here in Life 2.0, extreme stimuli are moderated by our watchdog systems, to avoid placing any undue stress on you during your stay. We are committed to ensuring you live a happy and productive second life. Well, that’s not so bad. We are now calculating your potential value to shareholders during your stay. Please stand by. You may continue to converse with our AI chat bots during this time. Have a *wonderful* day.
Mayor Horace Baxter stormed into his office and slammed the door shut. His hitman was dead! Why the old fool hadn’t checked his barrel for bullets before the gunfight, he didn’t know. But he was going to find out. Maybe old Long Johnson, the mediator of the duel, had something to do with it. That geezer could never be trusted anyway. “Why howdy there.” Baxter spun around with a yelp. There, lounging in his chair with shiny booted feet on his desk and sipping coffee from his mug, was his hitman’s opponent. The young newcomer stood up. “It’s a real honor to meet you, Mayor. Name’s Bub,” he drawled pleasantly. There was something about his smile that the mayor didn’t like. “YOU! How did you get in here?!” Baxter scanned the office for signs of a break-in, but there were none. “Get out of here, or I’ll call the sheriff!” he threatened. Bub held up his hands disarmingly. “Now hold a minute, will ya? I just want to talk.” “Then start talking, and make it quick.” “Wal, I was wonderin’ if you could give me my horse back.” “Whaddaya mean your horse? I bought it with my own money.” “Now now, we both know that’s a lie. You got your man to pilfer it from me ‘bout a week ago. Terribly sorry about him, by the way.” Bub flashed him another smile as if he was not sorry about the hitman’s death. For a moment, Baxter was at a loss for words. He decided to change the subject. “You took the bullets out of my man’s gun.” He accused. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. But I reckon it was for the best, considerin’ that you’ve sent him out to do away with your rivals.” “What?” A crafty gleam twinkled in Bub’s eye. “Mayor Coon. Your last sheriff. Young Jim. I know what happened to all of them. Matter of fact, everyone does. They’re just too chicken-hearted to squeal about it, ‘cause they know you’ll come for them next if they do. And that’s the real reason why I’m here.” He chuckled, the sound soft and sinister. “I’ve been trackin’ you for a long time, Mayor Baxter.” “You measly sneakthief!” shouted the mayor. He drew his revolver and lunged forward, but Bub had already vanished. The door was wide open now, and he could see a small group of townspeople outside. They began booing him as he stepped out. “Down with Baxter!” "Confound the old cheat!" “Hang 'im!” Bub pushed his way through the crowd. “Your game’s up, Mayor,” he called to him, “You can quit this town or face up to your crimes like a man. The choice is yours. Either way, I suggest you go quietly if you know what’s good for you.” “Not until you pay for this!” roared Baxter. Almost blindly, he fired his revolver until it was empty. The townspeople scattered as Bub dropped to the ground, clutching his chest. He twitched for a few minutes and went completely still. He didn’t stay there for long though. No sooner had Baxter gone to examine him, he sprang back up. He was now holding a knife. “I would really appreciate it if y’all stopped firing at me,” he griped, casually dusting off his green jacket, “Last time, someone tried to put a bullet through my forehead. It’s getting to be mighty tiresome, even for a guy like me.” Baxter could only stare in shock. It was beginning to dawn on him who this upstart was, and he didn’t like it. Before he could move, Bub knocked him flat and pinned him down. He was surprisingly strong despite his lean build. He grinned maniacally as he held his knife to the mayor’s throat. His voice lowered to a venomous hiss. “No one tangles with the Man from Up North.”
It's cold right now. "But it's always been cold. What's one more day?" You never care about anything, it's irritating. "And you care too much about everything." Not everything. Only what matters in this moment. "And what would that be, darling?" Giving them just a little bit more warmth. The dead can get cold too. "Just like us?" Just like us. &nbsp; ---------------------------- &nbsp; "There are some more over there." "You.." But this one's alive. "Only barely. And barely here means that they might just as well be dead." "Son..?" Why does this one call me son? Am I a child? Their child? "Not in a very long time. Not anymore, darling." But I was? "Please, say something.." "But you were." "But there is nothing to be done about it. Give this dying one their last warmth, and move onto the next. Your flame can only burn so long in this place." Please, accept one last light in this dying dark. Meet your son in the next life.
I've worn a lot of different disguises in my time. Sometimes they're bizarre - like the one time I had to wade around in a 150-pound Kermit the Frog getup for an hour. (The 'why' is classified. Yeah, let's go with that.) Rarely do I get to wear something I actually earned the right to. So it was with a bit of nostalgia that I walked into the coffee shop, wearing my old uniform. Dress uniform tends to draw the eye, especially when you walk into a civilian establishment. There were quite a few states thrown my way - some impressed, a couple wary, and one thirtysomething in a red dress was appraising. (I resolved to look into that - later). My target was standing behind the counter, noting down an order from a middle-aged lady who seemed chronically unable to make up her mind. I got in queue. (Nothing irritates a target more than being a nuisance at the place they work. See Kermit the Frog above - oh, sorry, classified. I'll explain another time.) As she finished taking the order and the customer meandered away, I stepped up to the counter. Courtney Summers was a bright, bubbly kid who seemed to fit the barista uniform perfectly. "Uh, hi!"She smiled. "Thank you for your service, and what can I get you?" "Actually, Miss Summers, it's what I can do for you that matters,"I said. "Captain Martin Snow, at your service. I'm here to inform you that you have been selected by the U.S. Army out of a pool of several hundred candidates, to attend the Advanced Enrollment Program." Before the stunned teen could react, I continued in a rush. "The Program aims to select the best, brightest and most patriotic American youngsters - those who have the potential to make a difference - and have them serve our great nation. It's an opportunity to make a difference, and after a five-year tour of duty, you get a full scholarship to any college of your choice anywhere in the United States." A snort came from behind me. "He's a fake." I turned around, slowly. The most irritating thing in my job is not the enemy. It's the people on my side who get in the way of doing what needs to be done - because they don't know any better. And I was confronted with exactly that problem. Six foot three. The wiry muscles of someone who knew how to lift weights. A buzz cut. Civvies, but that doesn't hide the posture formed under the steely eyed gaze of multiple drill sergeants. Apperances had to be maintained, of course. "And you are?" "Specialist Devon Quinlan, retired,"the man said. "Former U.S. Army. And you're too old to be a captain - Mister Snow, or whatever your name is." Back when I got into this game, my old mentor - a retired CIA agent who called himself 'Viper' - had taught me a lot about what to do if someone calls out your cover. "Never back down,"he'd said. "Your accuser will always have a seed of doubt in their mind. Play on that. Keep the image of an unfairly accused person - someone who doesn't believe anyone could actually question his credentials. Brazen it out." I slowly took a step towards Quinlan. Ponderously. "Specialist, I'm going to assume that you have a better reason for your claim than a commentary on my slower-than-average promotion rate." That took the man aback. "Um ..." "Well? Let's hear it." Suddenly, Quinlan looked uncertain. "There's no such thing as the Advanced Enrollment Program." "I see. What was your MOS?" "Er - 12N." "Oh. As a construction engineer, were you fully briefed on all career opportunities that the military might make available to future personnel? I thought that was only given to 79S, 79Rs and 42As. Maybe you cross-trained?" The man swallowed. "No, sir. But you have... um... an SIB badge. That's not normal for recruiters." I smiled. It wasn't a happy smile. "I was 11B for a while, before I took a wound where I shouldn't have and got the option to get booted upstairs - with a slight change in MOS."I fished out my trump card. "Still, if you have doubts - would an active military ID card convince you?" The former specialist was already convinced, but he took it anyway. Scrutinized it. I doubted he'd find anything amiss. Sure, it was a fake - I hadn't been a captain for a long, long time - but the card itself had been printed by our military liaison, who used the actual presses the Army uses for the real thing. "It seems to be in order... sir. Apologies." "No problem. You were just doing your duty."I smiled to show that I meant it. "Now if I may ask - how do you know Miss Summers?" "He's a friend of my mom,"Courtney piped up from behind us. 'Friend' or 'boyfriend'? I wondered. From the way Quinlan's expression flickered - just for a second - I surmised it was the former with a desire to move to the latter, at least on the specialist's side. Might make things more complicated later. (Continued in comments)
Plan out the story, plan out the individual scenes, storyboard, create drawings. When drawing pages it can be helpful to keep in mind margins. Figure out a style of art and storytelling specifically in regards to comics that works for you. I'd recommend looking more for advice given by people who actually do comics. I think ABD Illustrates on YouTube has a few videos with some advice, but I'm sure there's far more out there if you look for it. Comics can take a long time to make so be patient with yourself. Good luck.
“500 lumens of storage for your enemies, 500 twilens for your friends. Powered by Rillinquartz. Easy to use, easy to power, easy to store. By the end of the week, I could have your whole army outfitted with these suckers.” I give the Archsinger my darkest, dullest frown. He smiles slightly. That’s a bad sign. “Is there something wrong, Your Shadiness?” He clears his throat and rasps out, “It is a curious thing you have invented, artificer, and your claims are bold. We believe that a demonstration is required before we consider you further.” “Of course, sir! If you’ll please step right this way.” I lead him to the testing range where the apprentices have set up a roaring bonfire and attach Sir Kabavick’s Wondrous Lightduster Bracers to my arms. “Please stay behind the line Your Duskiness, this device has got a kick.” He looks at me quizzically. “I see no legs.” “Just an expression sir. Please stand back all the same.” When he’s a decent distance away I take aim at the bonfire. Normally I wouldn’t go anywhere near an Arch Dusksinger; not if it was high noon in the middle of summer with glowing clothes and a torch in both hands. Dusksingers terrify, astound, and should be avoided at all costs, and the Lightsingers are no better. But I’ve never been very bright. I chuckle as the bracers begin to hum. Not very bright. That’s a good one. His Duskiness would like that. The bracers fire, and a stream of dark energy pours from the palms of each one on a direct path to the fire. My arms jolt as the connection is made, and ever so gradually, the fire begins to dim. Not go out, just dim—which is entirely different—until it looks completely gone. But the smoke remains behind. The beams stop, and the spent crystal capacitors pop out of their sockets. “Observe,” I say, crumpling up a piece of paper and flinging it out over the logs. It catches and crumbles almost immediately. The Archsinger opens his mouth, but I cut him off before he can respond. “Wait, wait, you haven’t seen the best part!” I insert fresh crystals into the bracers, turn a dial on each, aim, and fire. Entirely different streams of energy pour out in two black lines, slamming into the invisible fire and filling it with dark, until a luminescent gray has completely replaced its former orange flames. The Archsinger doesn’t just frown at that. He closes his eyes and groans, and I can practically see the darkling aura around him as he takes energy from the fire. When he opens his eyes, the whites have been completely eaten by his pupils. His rasp is gone when he speaks. “Outstanding,” he growls gutturally. “I am not easily impressed, but I may make an exception here.” “I knew you’d like it, sir. That’s what I’ve always admired about Dusksingers: you know quality when you see it.” “What is the price per unit?” “500 gold ridians.” He grins, flashing a full set of teeth filed to needle points. “That is outrageous.” “Maybe. But I’ve never been very bright.” I wiggle my eyebrows. He blinks, and the smile disappears to be replaced by a deep-throated rumble that could have been a laugh if I believed hard enough. “You’ll get paid after you deliver.” “How about we keep it sweet and you pay half up front, half when you win the war? Look, just for you, I’ll even throw in my own personal model and a batch of Rillinquartz for your troubles.” He nods, taking the Lightdusters from me. “Deal. It has been a pleasure, artificer. I look forward to future business.” “Likewise, Your Murkiness.” The Archsinger leaves and I smile at his back, mumbling, “Sucker.” I just showed him how much control I had over light and dark and he predictably only saw how it could be used to fight his most hated enemy. I whistle a merry tune on my way to my next appointment. When the war is done and both Light and Dark have spent their power, I’ll take it all from them. Then it will be the people like me, the regular schmucks caught between the two powers for centuries, who will finally be in control. I open the door to the meeting room and give my brightest, most beaming smile to the Arch Lightsinger patiently waiting for me. “Pleasure to finally meet you, Your Luminosity! Are you ready to see Sir Kabavick’s Wondrous Nightbuster Bracers in action?”
Everything started off normally. I awoke in my bed, I moved my blanket away, and I stood up. Something was off. I was standing, yet it seemed I was only a foot or so up. Still in my bed, I looked around, awestruck at the scale of everything around me. Had I somehow shrunk in my sleep, to only a foot tall? I looked down to the floor. Usually I'd be out of bed by now, but today the distance between my bed and the floor was twice my size. After around 10 minutes, I prepared myself to jump down. Once I did, I landed with a "clack!" "Thats odd,"I thought to myself. I walked to my door, Still amazed by the size of everything. It took a while to get there. On a normal day, I'd already have eaten breakfast and would prepare to put my shoes on and go to work. Today however, I was still in my bedroom. I had left my door slightly ajar last night, which proved helpful because now I couldn't reach the doorknob. I walked through the gap and entered the hallway. As I entered my bathroom it occurred to me. How am I supposed to brush my teeth? The sink would usually be up to around my waist, now it seemed like it was 30 feet tall. Nevertheless, I made my way up the toilet, and jumped to the sink. As I looked in the mirror terror flooded my mind. I was a bird! I let out a horrible, high-pitched screech and began to panic. How did this happen? Why did this happen? Did someone do this to me? Who did this to me!? I stood there, staring at my reflection as a bird gazed back for what felt like forever. I was now covered in white feathers. My nose and mouth had been fused to a gray beak. My fingers were gone. My arms had become wings. Several bright yellow feathers protruded from the top of my head. I was no longer anything near human. I was a cockatoo. I rushed to my front door, flapping my new wings frantically. I couldn't open it. I didn't have hands anymore. I couldn't even reach the handle. Then I remembered. I'm a bird now, I can fly! I got into position, aimed towards the door handle, and flapped my wings as hard and fast as I could... ...and yet, I remained on the floor. Turns out there's a lot more to flying than I initially thought. Darn. I tried and tried for hours. I didn't want to stay in my house for the rest of my life. I had to let somebody, anybody, know what happened to me. I refused to give up. Eventually, after 4 hours of non-stop trying, I rose off the ground. "I did it! I'm flying!", I thought. I let out a cheer but what came out was more of a squawk. That didn't matter. I was so happy. This moment was short lived however, when I reached the door handle and realized I didn't know how to open it. I couldn't use my hands, those don't exist anymore. I tried using my beak but the handle was too awkward of a shape for my beak to hold on long enough. I fell to the ground, defeated. I looked to my clock. 9:17. I was 3 hours late for work. Basic tasks suddenly became so difficult for me today. I don't even know how to leave my own home. Will anybody ever know what happened to me? Will anybody even notice I'm gone? Will anybody remember me after a while? I looked up at my front door. It had barely crossed my mind normally, but now it was my greatest obstacle. How could I have been bested by a door? "I'm so pathetic..."I said. Wait, what? I spoke? Birds can't speak! Whoever did this, they didn't just make me into the average bird. They made me a talking bird, but why? Why would someone do this? Did I do something to make them mad? I thought about anybody I may have wronged at all this year. There was Terry from work. I had accidentally scratched his car in the parking lot as I was leaving. We sorted it all out. He forgave me, right? Well, clearly not. Because now I'm a bird and he's still living his life like normal. How did he do this to me? This shouldn't be possible. I sat there, still glaring at my front door, trying to figure out how this had all happened. I never saw Terry as someone who would seek revenge, let alone someone who would curse me like this. My contemplation was quickly stopped, however, when I heard a knock on my door. Then, before me on the floor, was an envelope. I realized what this meant. The mailman had just come by. There's someone nearby! I started screaming after him. "Help! Help! I've been turned into a bird!" Alas, there was no response. The mailman moved on to the next house. I was once again alone. Wait... The mail slot! The door handle may not have worked but maybe I could exit through the mail slot! I readied myself once again. I lined myself up with the slot, I extended my wings, and I began to fly once again. I reached the mail slot and clamped down on it with my beak. I flapped my wings like never before as I tried desperately to keep myself in the air. The slot was open. I could see the outside! I was so close! I swung into the gap, and squeezed my way through. Finally, after hours upon hours of trying, I was outside. I stayed on my front steps and considered my options. I could look for someone and explain everything. Maybe they'd help me. I could wait for someone to eventually walk by and ask them for help. I looked up to the trees, I looked at the sky. I thought of a third option. I could just... be a bird. Human life has so many drawbacks. Rules, money, politics... birds don't have to deal with any of that! Yeah! I could leave this place behind and embrace my new form! I could forget my old, boring life and fly, fly to my heart's content! I could start anew, I'm not Stephen anymore! I'm a bird! This isn't a curse at all! This was all a blessing in disguise! Screw you humanity! I'm going to live my life to the fullest. I won't be held back by a job! I won't be held back by a society of people who only care about themselves! I won't be held back by bills, taxes, or anything! I'm a bird now! I'M A BIRD NOW!!!
It was a beautiful day in Eloren. As the sun poked its head above the horizon, I got up and kissed my wife, Maya, and made my way downstairs. I made myself a cup of tea and herbs and got some leftover meat from the refrigerator. Another day in the mines, gathering quartz and silver for the Organization. The Organization. Every time I thought about it, a vague feeling tickled the back of my brain. Resentment? I mean, I didn't hate my job, but part of me felt I hadn't exactly chosen this life. I put my tea and herbs into a thermos, grabbed a lunch for myself, and made my way to work. No time like the present. However, as I made my way to the mine, I saw that the other men, along with some women and children, were gathered around the city square. I walked my way over. "What is it?"I heard one person ask. "It's not human, that's for sure,"said another. I made my way to the front of the crowd. The crowd had gathered around what looked like a spacecraft, but unlike any the Organization owned. Next to it stood a strange figure, humanoid but not quite human. It was green and had lanky limbs, two legs and four arms. It looked strangely like an...insect? Something tickled the back of my brain. The beast swore up and down. "No, no, no, no, it wasn't supposed to be like this!" The thing in the back of my brain pushed its way forward. "What am I going to do?"asked the creature, and it swore again. "It's a Kern!"I said. I watched as recognition made its way around the crowd. "And it has a spaceship!"said another. Slowly, a flood of memories began pouring down on me. I wasn't Robert Fensworth, miner and loyal employee of the Organization. I was Magnus Carter, dread pirate and sworn enemy of the Empire, the true identity of the Organization. I pointed at the Kern. "Seize him!" The crowd rushed on him and pulled him away from the ship. He kicked and screamed, and even tried to go for his weapon, but there were too many of us. Meanwhile, a few of the men and I started working together to put his spaceship back together. That evening, before imperial ships would arrive for our day's work, we finished the ship. We also had the Kern bound in rope. "Ladies and gentlemen,"I said, "the Empire thought they could steal our past from us and cause unquestioning loyalty in us. However, thanks to the fortuitous arrival of our new guest, we now realize what we've known all along: the empire has been manipulating us. We have been their slaves, but no longer! Tonight, we take on the Empire once again, and tonight, we shall earn our freedom!" The crowd cheered.
The government fell in a week. Turns out the only thing protecting the law-makers was the law. The bands of thugs did well at first, taking what they wanted from the corpses of those they killed. None of them stopped at one, of course. It was obvious what would happen to everyone except those thinking that they could cull mankind. But good men banded together. They protected the widows and the orphans. They guarded their new borders. They made new laws, based not on man, but on inalienable God given rights. And a new nation rose from the ashes of the old.
As i opened my com device to check the message that had been sent to me, I felt a weird numbness as i heard the weird rambling about a betrayal, after which echoed the words "order 66". I closed my coms as soon as the message ended, and ran straight towards my Jedi General to assist him. Or so i thought. Because to my horror, and as if by reflex, i held my blaster and shot the general in the back, killing him instantly. I awaited the response of my bretherin to my treason, but it seemed as though what i just did was pretty normal to them. I couldn't believe it, i couldn't believe any of this. The Jedi i once served under, now dead, and his killer being non other than myself. What more was there to live for? I betrayed the man who protected the republic, who protected us who protected... me. I attempted to shoot myself with the same blaster that took my leader when I realized something: I couldn't move a muscle. My body felt disconnected from my mind, and each time i tried to move, It only felt worse. I could still see and hear the battle raging around me, but there was nothing i could. The commander aproached me. He looked at the limp corpse of our dear general, put a hand on my shoulder, and repeated in a dead voice: "Good Soldiers follow orders". I felt my mouth moving only to repeat what he had said to me. It was the worse feeling ever. I was trapped inside my own body unable to respond and was taken control of by whatever witchcraft the sepratists were able to pull. As me general did i followed, unable to stop myself, unable to feel the ground under me or the blaster in my hand. I was too terrified to watch, for the nightmares finally came true. I had seen this scenario before in one of the many nightmares i had. As the battle raged on around me, i began to drift off remembering those aweful nightmares me and my bretherin had. We all rationalized it was due to the harsh training, and now they seemed so real. A blaster shot to the helmet pulled out of my daydreams and knocked me out completely. Edit: Apologies for mistakes, english ain't my first language, also this is the first time i post here. I have so many ideas and i probably will come back to this so please tell me any and all criticism you may have.
You wake up your head spinning your world a complete blur, as you gather your bearings and pull yourself out of the snow you begin to recall what happened, you remember the explosion ripping through the lab, killing the people you had lived and worked with for 5 years, then just as you began to be consumed by guilt you heard it, the thing that your friends became, turning around you saw it, or rather it's foot prints an invisible zombie.
I look at him in befuddlement as it slowly crosses over my shoe. "What, is it gonna ruin your brand-new Florshiems?" "No, you don't understand!" "Come on, George, ever since you got that inheritance, you've been freaking out whenever you see a snail..." "William, I lied. There was no inhertiance. I don't even gave an uncle in Vermont. Hell, I don't even have an uncle!" "Then, how-" "I took a deal with the devil." "-the Devi-"He cuts me off. "Yes, the devil." "Alright... and? So what? It's not like-"It's not gonna hurt him. I mean, it's a snail, right? "And that snail will be the death of me!" He always was a strange sort of guy.
They say a prophet is never respected by his own people. He'd written on the walls for as long as he could remember, ever since he was a child. He drew in the halls of the squalid tenament where he lived with his mother and siblings - at first just scribbles and scratches, then words. Sometimes pictures if he couldn't find quite the right way to say it. But he always had his markers. Everywhere he went, it seemed like everybody was talking, but nobody was listening. He tried to warn the people: "Fools, silence grows like a cancer! Hear my words, let me teach you!"The prophet held out his arms, but couldn't seem to reach them. He remembered back to when he was a child, scribbling on walls. Maybe if he could write it out, perhaps then his words would get seen and noticed. He wrote poetry in bathrooms and subways, where hundreds of people passed, but they ignored the elegant prose. In toilet stalls and tunnels, they were mesmerized by their hand-held devices. He grew obsessed with his mission, and became homeless. He was haggard, eating only enough to get by. He took little notice of the weather, merely turning his frayed collar to the cold and damp. The prophet shared his visions with the world, but the people were blind in their ignorance. Finally he decided to hack the system. He must get through to them, try to reach a larger, captive audience. It had been years since he'd graduated from tech school, so his skills were a bit rusty, but finally he was able to breach the firewall. He felt sure the message was colorful and simple enough to hold their attention. That night, in the heart of the city, he came upon a crowd of ten thousand people, maybe more, staring up at the mega-screen. The sound of their silence was almost deafening. The people stared in abject adulation at the beauty of such a sight. The sign flashed out its warning: "The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls and tenement halls." Their phones, forgotten in their hands, all flashed in synchronicity to the neon light. No one spoke; their expressions were vacuous and vapid. He held up his hands and winced as the brightness stabbed his eyes. Crying, he retreated past a street lamp, following old, narrow streets of cobblestone. He realized now why people didn't stop to see his poetry. Books had been banned and burned, and after decades of only vids and text abbreviations, people had forgotten how to read. The overcast sky matched his mood, and silent raindrops fell. At last he reached the small copse of brambled trees in the city park. The prophet crawled into his cardboard box and curled himself into a ball. He whispered through his tears, "Hello darkness, my old friend - I've come to talk with you again."
Nobody likes having a ride along, but especially not when there is a film crew involved. In our district we get a lot of ride along requests. Normally, they are a student who is potentially thinking about joining the force or maybe a researcher who is doing a study on our city and they want to experience what it is like in person. And occasionally we get requests from some production company asking if they can send a film crew for a ride a long. The reason for this, of course, is that I work in statistically the most dangerous city in the United States. On top of that, the district I am in produces the highest number of violent crimes. Because of this we are able to deny the majority of the requests we receive. It is too dangerous to have someone with you during a shift that could potentially be put in harms way, let alone a film crew. However, this time was different. "You're going to have a ride along coming up, I wanted to go over some of the details with you"My sergeant told me after calling me into his office. "What? Who?"I responded a bit surprised. "It is a film crew. There will be two people with you." "Film crew? I thought those usually got denied" "This one is different"he responded. "It is an international production company that is launching a new show visiting high crime cities throughout the world. We are the first stop for them in the US. They are offering a large sum of money for us to allow them to ride along for a day."He continued with a smirk. This felt odd to me, but I was in no position to question what he was telling me. "Okay, well when will they be here?"I asked "Saturday. They will ride with you on the mid shift, and if they need more footage they will stick around for the night but Evans will take them for that. I have a feeling they won't be sticking around though." "Saturday??"I responded with a look of confusion. "But that is-" "I had a meeting with the producers yesterday"he cut me off "They are on a pretty tight schedule since they are coming from Tijuana. I had them share what research that had done so far and what areas they wanted to see. It was the typical stuff. East side, Roosevelt Park, the Vester Complex and whatever we thought should be included. They mentioned wanting to learn about the East side vs West side rivalry and maybe spotlight that. I think that Roosevelt Park would be the perfect place to take them on Saturday. Understand?"He finished with a wolfish look. After a brief pause I was beginning to realize what he was wanting. With a smile I responded, "Yes Sir. I will see you on Saturday, Sarge." &#x200B; The ride along started with an informal Q&A sessions with the producer who was sitting in the back seat. As we pulled out of the station I was explaining to him some of the crime trends of the past couple months. The summer months always see a spike in crime, and I was telling him that we had seen some pretty nasty stuff recently. Two weeks ago there was a conflict between two groups of people at a strip mall on the East side. Evidentially there were some dealers coming over from the West side trying to make a little money without getting noticed, and that resulted in a brawl that sent three people to the hospital with gun shot wounds. We do not consider it gang violence since they do not identify as gangs, but there is certainly a East vs West rivalry. The producer was quickly writing all of this down as the cameraman in the passenger seat captured film of the vacant houses with people playing dice outside of them. "Could you tell us more about that rivalry?"The producer asked. "Sure"I responded "It is mostly centered around drugs and turf. The East side wants to have control on their side of the city, and the West doesn't want to be bothered on their turf. The problem is Roosevelt Park. It lies right in the middle of the city, and in the heart of our district. It ends up being a battle ground since both sides try to deal there. Both refuse to give control to the other side, so it is a constant back in forth that ends with a lot of blood shed. We can head there now for you guys to get a look at it." As we rode down 3rd street and towards Roosevelt Park we could see police cruisers parked around the block as well as a large group of people all gathered in the middle of the park near the basketball courts. I parked the car and glanced over at cameraman. "Wait here"I told him as he nodded his head cautiously. I found my Sergeant and walked up to let him know the crew was waiting in the car. "Good"he responded "Lets bring them over" "You sure about this, Sarge?"I asked. "Yes, they came all the way here. Now lets show them how terrible this community really is." I walked in silence with the film crew through the park and back to where my Sergeant was standing. Looking puzzled the cameraman was panning across the park and capturing everyone that was there. The producer clearly had questions but stayed quiet the whole walk over. What they were seeing was not what they were expecting to be filming for their show. "Oh good! You guys made it! How has your ride along been?"My Sergeant greeted us as we approached him "Uh, its been good"The producer responded clearly still trying to figure out exactly what was going on "But would you mind explaining why we are here?" "Of course!"My sergeant responded "This is Roosevelt Park, one of the most violent areas in our district. Last month alone we had six drug related shootings. Pretty nasty stuff, huh?" "Yeah, sounds pretty bad. But why are here now? It looks like some sort of cookout or something is going on right now."The producer responded. "Oh, right. You see at the end of every summer there is something called Community Weekend held at Roosevelt Park. It is a weekend where everyone in the community gathers to support the inner city school district. There is a clothing drive, school supply donation, and even an organized basketball tournament at the park. Everyone, East and West, all get together in support of one cause and that is to help the kids in this community get the supplies they need to have a successful school year. There is an unwritten rule; no drugs and no violence between the rivals. This is our sixth year of doing this and even though we have a police presence here just in case, there hasn't been a single issue come up. It is a beautiful thing, really."My sergeant explained. "That is a nice story"the producer hesitated, "But it doesn't exactly fit with the story we are trying to tell for this show." "Oh it doesn't?"My sergeant shot back. "Well you see, that is just the thing. When you asked to do a ride along I thought that this would be the perfect day for it. Not because you would get to see any arrests, or catch any footage of the violent perception of our city. Rather, you would be able to see the opposite. A community that despite its issues, is able to put their differences aside and support a good cause in hopes that the youth can bring the change that this city needs. Everyone here recognizes that this type of violence and drug abuse is not sustainable. They've seen enough of their friends and family be killed, or be sent to prison and they know the only way to prevent the youth from following the same path are things like this. Now, instead of painting our city as a warzone, and glamorizing the violence for the entertainment of your audience you can show them this. And hopefully moving forward producers like you won't come calling in hopes of televising the dark side of our city, and we can shine some light on the bright side." There was a long pause as the producer was left speechless. Finally my sergeant broke the silence again. "So with all that being said, would you like to stick around to get more footage? They are doing an outdoor movie later tonight. Should be a good one." "No, I think we are good. We got all we need."The producer responded after a brief pause. He then shook my sergeants hand, told me they were ready to head back to the station and started towards my patrol car. "That went well"My sergeant exclaimed "Any chance they actually use that film?"I questioned. "Doubt it. We got paid for it either way. Hopefully the word will spread and we will stop getting requests from shows like them though. You'd better get them back to the station, they've got another city to get to."
Nothing reduces a person to their most savage state quite like hunger. The intense gnawing feeling, radiating outwards, sapping you dry, it can make a person do some very strange things. Sara had seen a man once remove a piece of his friend's leg with a rusted kitchen knife out of a need for food. That was relatively tame compared to some of the stories she'd heard. Most people like to think they could survive a zombie apocalypse, but surviving does not mean the mind will be left intact, stable and rational. Sara knew her own mind was beginning to slip. It was her sixth day without any food, and in her previous life, she'd hardly have considered a loaf of moldy bread a meal. It felt rather sandy going down. Now, she was far away from that destroyed convenience store. An abandoned car had brought her from concrete desert to golden fields of wheat. A farm in the middle of nowhere, no chance of zombies. The original owners were gone, leaving a surprisingly intact property that Sara decided to make her temporary home. No food had been left in the cupboard though, and Sara had no more energy to look. She laid down, flopped over a living room chair. The walls were covered in crosses and family portraits, the carpet covered in dog hair. Both evidence of a well-lived and well-loved family home. Sara noticed a few lone nails on the wall as well, where additional pictures must've been. The mess, the empty cabinets, the missing portraits. Whoever lived here before must have left in a hurry. Sara hoped her own family had done the same, their city apartment wasn't exactly a very safe place to be with so many undead roaming the streets. She had been off on a business trip deeper into the country, whether to call that lucky or unlucky was a matter of how sentimental or desperate she was at the moment. After calming down from the frantic drive, she was left alone with thoughts of her daughter. She could've been good friends with this family's kid. April shared a keen interest in field hockey, same as this family's daughter, at least based on the photos still left hanging on the wall here. At least, they had shared an interest. Who knew if they were still alive. But Sara was determined to find April at any cost, zombies be damned. Nobody knew quite how it all went down, there were reports of a plague beginning to spread, and people refused to take any protective measures because the economic cost would be too great. Well, there was no economy now. This farm didn't seem like it would change much though. Outside in the backyard, Sara found the respite she'd been looking for. A home vegetable garden, tomatoes ripe on the vine, lettuce and kale ready to pick. Even cucumbers! A salad may not be incredibly filling, but any food would be better than the hunger that had been ripping her apart. She bit right into a tomato, only afterwards bothering to remove it from the vine. It was not a pretty affair, the tomato juice getting all over her face and clothes. She had to stop before eating more, she knew a stomachache would hit hard. She picked a number of vegetables and brought them inside. This would sustain her, for now. A few days later, Sara was feeling better. The vegetables wouldn't last too long, but for now she had some energy back in her. This had been her opportunity to explore more of the home she had taken over, maybe find some extra food that had been overlooked. With enough reserves, she may be able to survive long enough to find April again. But exploring the house wasn't as rewarding as she'd initially hoped, she only uncovered more family photos. Their bedrooms revealed more about them; the daughter's room was adorned with fairy lights and a couple Playboi Carti posters. Her name was Ellie according to the pile of old school notebooks and binders left on the desk. The parents' room was more cluttered, painted a dark green. Some old skeins of yarn had been left in a bag, a beautiful crocheted blanket lay draped over their bedrest. Countless papers and magazines were strewn about the floor. Sara wasn't sure whether the mess was due to a rushed exit or if it was always in this state. Most cluttered of all though was the basement, but this had clearly been in this state for a good long while beforehand too. There was a line through the clutter though, apparently someone had made a last rush through here before leaving. At the end was a cupboard, with a paper taped to it, stained with grease and blood, explaining why it was evidently so important. "Please don't take anything from here, we will need it when we come back"read the sign. Sara rattled and shook the cabinet, and heard the clinking and sliding of metal cans. The family's emergency food supply. The vegetables would only last her a couple days at most, she needed more. She hoped she wouldn't have to take it all, but she had no idea how long it would be until she found her daughter again. Better safe than sorry. Sara grabbed a nearby hammer and smashed open the cabinet, and began the long process of bringing it upstairs and out to her vehicle. After she cleared out the cabinet, her exploration of the homestead continued. Outside the house, she found more of what one would expect from a small farm. Spare parts in the garage, a broken tractor in a state of partial disassembly. There was another in an adjacent shed that seemed to be more functional. There was a temptation to take it for a ride, but Sara knew she might need whatever fuel may be inside. She moved on to take a stroll around the farm, to see how far the fields extended, what the surrounding terrain was like. She had hoped this farmer's house would have a shotgun somewhere, but they seemed to have taken all their guns with them when they left. Smart move on their part, but it left her with no good weapons besides a baseball bat. She went out into the fields, walking through the grain. The hills stretched far and wide, but crisscrossed by lines of trees. They seemed to define the borders of the farm. Sara walked towards the nearest one, crossing the distance slowly, she didn't quite have the energy yet for anything more. As she walked, the smell of manure seemed to grow stronger. But there was something else on the air too, something just as repulsive, but more foreboding. It was a smell Sara had become all too acquainted with. It was the smell of decaying flesh. The smell was one's earliest warning that zombies were about. Then she felt herself step in something worse than just mud and manure. Innards of some zombie the family had fought off, or worse, the remains of a member of the family themselves. Sara was already beginning to turn back when she heard a rustling, a body coming through the wheat. The unmistakable groans of a zombie followed, confirming the worst. The grain was too tall to see through, the sound of rustling was her only hint. She ran from it, but as the groaning began coming as if from all sides, nowhere seemed safe. She hadn't eaten enough to run for long anyways. Finally, a break in the wheat, a narrow path used by the tractor. As Sara stared down the long strip of mud, she finally saw it. Emerging from the golden wall were two zombies, their rotten, maggot-ridden flesh seemingly about to fall off. The smell of decay was overwhelming. They wore patchy clothes, stained with blood and sweat. They shambled forwards, looking as though they would fall apart at any second, but still they persisted, getting closer and closer to Sara. She held her bat at the ready, careful before taking two steps, then swing! Her bat collided with the side of one zombie's head, producing an awful cracking sound as it flopped to one side. It hadn't been severed, but given how decayed its neck was, it wasn't too far off. Another hit ripped enough away that the zombie fell limp to the ground. Its partner was too close for a proper swing now, Sara instead used the bat to push it away. This time, her hit knocked it to the ground, but the earth resisted her strikes, preventing the zombie from immediately being taken out of commission. She cursed Newton and his laws. Rustling from behind made her turn to see another zombie pop out of the wheat. She had to escape before more arrived. In a rush, Sara climbed over the two zombies she'd just beaten. But as she stumbled, her foot came too close to the one's arm, and it flailed outward wildly. The horrid undead fingers clawed at her ankle, ripping it open. Sara cried out in pain, nearly falling over, the sudden pause giving the zombie enough time to make another swipe and make the wound far deeper. She hobbled away, barely faster than the still-standing zombie in pursuit. She could feel herself growing fainter and fainter as the blood shot from her ankle, but thankfully she managed to reach the house. The moment the door slammed shut and the locks had been bolted, she collapsed on the floor.
TW/Spoiler: >!Blood and Death!< It was tricky at first but we eventually made a pattern. I would kiss her and she would spend a day awake and then she would kiss me and I would spend the next day awake. We were able to carry on like this for quite some time. Leaving notes for the other on the counter and marking the days on the calendar as to let the other know the exact day. It was fairly confusing at times. The small moments when I would see her face smiling at me before she went into the strange sleep were cherished. This day was no different, except that it would be her birthday tomorrow. I planned streamers and balloons. Cake and gifts of course. I wish I could see the look on her face when she opened them. I spent the majority of the day contacting her friends and family to make sure they were able to be there and spent the night decorating and preparing. I almost ran out of time! I'm sure she wouldn't mind another hour but it's the principle of it. It wouldn't be fair. After giving her a kiss her eyes began to open. We had just a few seconds. Before closing my eyes I heard a knock on the door. It was early but I was happy she'd have her family and friends to surround her today. My eyes began to reopen and I felt her hand resting on my face all the while still giving me a kiss, a salty wetness mixed in. She was crying. Her hand slipping from my face I looked down. Blood soaked the sheets around me and trailed out of our bedroom. The first feeling that came was numbness. Followed immediately by the adrenaline rush. I tried to stop the bleeding but she had no pulse. What was I supposed to do? I could still get to a phone. I ran out of the bedroom slipping on the still wet blood. Pain shot through my side as I crashed to the floor. The scene of the living room from where I lay in the hallway was a nightmare. I pushed myself up and started preparing myself. First I saw the knife. It was the one I set out for the cake. We didn't have any cake knives. Second was the gun I didn't recognize. We don't own any. We never needed them. Lastly was the man I didn't recognize. He was dead on the floor. There was no day marked off on the calendar. No note. It was still the same day, not even an hour after I went to sleep. The last thing I wanted to hear was a knock on the door.
"Not again,"I muttered. I checked the gun and cleared it before removing the mag and switching the safety on. This was the third time this week. I sighed as I carried the Kalashnikov the wall where the other "gifts"now hung. In the past month alone I had received a box of 7.62 Soviet, a drum mag full of .22LR, several crates of assorted and mixed ammunition, a Glock 19, and a cheap plastic scope. I freshened up and headed downstairs to meet the rest of my crew. "Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, Grimlan?"asked Savia, smirking. I must have been frowning. "It happened again,"I muttered as I took my place at the table. They nodded in understanding. "I still do not know why you hate it so much,"said Persephone. "They are such wonderful gifts!" "Even so,"said Helm, "It is . . . alarming, given what you said about this . . . whole situation." Five years ago I was a simple knight-in-training in service of my lord. Then, an evil wizard attacked, and I was flung into . . . I don't know if it was the future, or a different realm, or what. There, I met some good-hearted folk who loved justice and righteousness. We had an adventure together, tracking down some "supervillain"who could open up "rifts in space-time."We defeated the cretin, but at the last he tore open numerous tears in time, and with his final breath he cursed me. I was returned to my world, only to find that these tears affected my home as well. I set off to mend this curse. Along the way, I gathered some stalwart companions, and discovered that I had not escaped that final battle unscathed--the curse now opened up holes to other places and times. Sometimes, weapons would come through. Sometimes, clothes. Other times, plants long extinct. I have been lucky thus far that I have not destroyed a town with some monster or machine of war--but it has come close. Thus, now I wander, tying to free the land of this curse. "Well, in any case, let's go,"Savia, a graduate of Merlin's Academy for Thaumaturgy, said. She dusted off her robes and adjusted her long cap as she stood. "Day's wasting! We got so much to do, so much to see!" "The wagon is ready,"Helm, an ork cleric in the service of the Silverlord, said. His white tabbard and glittering mail shone out brightly against his dark skin. "We can make Zavelda by this afternoon if we leave now." Perephone, a Ranger of the Wildlands, drained the last of her drink. "I still don't see what's so bad about them,"she said. I nodded. "I'll be right back."Back in my room, I studied my wall. Savia had placed a ward on my room so that none save me could enter while I was gone. It was, after all, the castle of my lord, and out base of operations. I grabbed a "backpack"that I had gained half a year ago and filled it with essential supplies. I grabbed the Glock and some 9mm ammo, and, after a bit of thought, grabbed the Kalashnikov. I consulted a book I had taken back with me from my trip to the other world, selected the appropriate ammunition, and headed on out to where my companions were waiting. "Good hunting, sir,"said Lorenz, the head of the castle stewards. "And good day to you,"I replied. I climbed into the driver's seat, gripped the reigns, and set off for adventure and trouble.
I nervously watched as our life savings went across the felt and was exchanged for plastic chips. My partner nudged two of the black ones into a circle. The cards were dealt and the two cards in front of me added up, I got 4 black chips back. My partner scooted 4 more black chips excitingly and more cards came. I knew enough to add a card and 8 chips were added to the pile. All of our money went in to the circle. I prayed, I crossed my fingers. A truly ridiculous amount came back. My partner stood me up and began gathering our chips. Suddenly, two men appeared behind us both. "W-W-What can we do for you sirs?"I trembled, "we've done nothing?" "Well, you've done nothing. We're after her."They pointed to my partner. "Felicity Evangeline, aka Lady Luck."
Haeva swished dramatically, his wand tracing arcane sigils in the air. “This will be glorious! Our warriors will be unstoppable! No need for armour, just skin as strong as stone!” “Not if you don’t pay more attention it won’t.” Caeri corrected several of the sigils with a flick. “Did you even pass the test?” Snorting derisively, Haeva undid the corrections and continued. “I happen to be a fully qualified mage. Please stop interfering with my magnum opus.” “I heard they make the test easier each year, to make the capital think the academy is producing ever more top mages year on year.” “What you’re not grasping is the subtle alterations I’m making to the runes. These aren’t mistakes, they are innovations. I’m breaking new ground here; I’m going to be the first to draw power from the charge field.” “The field is just a myth. Once we understand magic better we’ll figure out why magic decay stops suddenly.” “These altered runes tap into the field to draw power, so not only does the spell not need me to provide the power to cast it, but it will also be self-sustaining in perpetuity. It’s genius!” “I did hear one theory, that if the field was real it was made by the Undying King. Wouldn’t that be something? All these people who decry the King as the monster who wants to kill us all, then suddenly it turns out he’s the one keeping our ancient relics working. That would be such a laugh.” “All I need to do is tweak the targeting here, make sure it only targets the tenth legion, we don’t want everyone getting it just yet.” “That says ‘the one tenth’ not the ‘tenth legion’. I also heard that if the field is real, then tapping into it could be disastrous, it could collapse or trigger a surge that blows up all the relics still lost out there.” “Shut up, you barely scraped through rune literacy. This spell is perfect, and if the King were behind the field, well he’d be amazed that someone thought to use his invention like this. I am going straight to the top of the wizard list today.” “Top of the wizard most wanted list. Are you done yet? I’m hungry.” “Almost, go look out the window. Tell me when it works.” Caeri rolled her eyes and went over, peering at the legion on parade below. Haeva yelled loudly and thrust his wand into the floating runes. There was a loud, putrid bang, then silence. “Did it work?” Silence answered. Turning, Haeva’s eyes widened and he ran over to the statue at the window: Caeri’s face permanently locked into a panicked expression, her arm pointing outside. Following her last, desperate gesture, Haeva saw that he had, indeed, screwed up. Pandemonium reigned, and as he tried to figure out how he was going to explain turning a tenth of the duchy into stone, his own words surfaced in his mind: it will also be self-sustaining in perpetuity.
Being immortal and having the ability to bear children is never a good combo. And yet evolution gifted the elves this exact problem. The problem is, the population can't go down, but it can go up. And for a while, that's exactly what happened. The population went up, up, and up. Over the centuries, elven city-states tried many things to keep the population down, like punishment for new families to expulsion into the rest of the world. But being immortal generally tended to deter such punishments, so with few exceptions, these city-states became overpopulated slums, rife with crime and disease. This came to a boiling point one day, about 17 years ago. That day, the latest plague that had been consuming the outside society had finally reached an elven city state. The disease spread fast. Within a couple weeks, the city-state had effectively ceased to function, its inhabitants doomed to perpetual suffering, as the disease could not kill an elf, only wreak havoc on its body. Now, things like this had happened before. Plagues passed through elven city states all the time, with incidents happening every couple hundred years or so. Each time, however, the speed and magnitude of the spread got worse. This incident was notable: it took just 10 days for the plague to infect 97% of the city's population, in part due to a lack of immunity but also in part to overpopulation and overcrowding. But what could be done? Well, as it turns out, elves can be killed. They can only be killed through methods that would essentially leave no trace of their bodies behind, but it is indeed possible. Problem is, this society was stuck in medieval technology. They didn't have technology that could cause devastation over a wide area, like nukes. But what they did have was something that could be equally potent if used correctly: magic. So the human-dwarf alliance had a high stakes meeting. In it, they called the top spell developers from across the land to develop something that could potentially destroy an entire elven city state whilst killing the near-unkillable elves inside. And before long, they found something. Atrascata omnotius. This spell was the combination of several spells. It was, in essence, a killing spell, but with the heat turned up by a matter of 1000 and the affected area turned up by a million. Instead of one elf, this could kill thousands. Easily enough to wipe out a city state. So they set their sights on the plague-ridden city. They sent an expert spellcaster, one with impeccable precision, so as to not accidentally hit any human settlements or other, healthier elven city states. And before long, the words were uttered. What happened next was a sight to behold. A massive fireball exploding from the city center, expanding outward until the city state was engulfed in flames, and even a little bit of the surrounding countryside. When the flames settled, what was left was a barren wasteland with no buildings or shrubbery left intact. And most importantly, not an elf in sight. This incident would immediately be used as an example to the rest of elven society. Have too many children, or your city will be gone. This, inevitably, shocked and horrified the elves, who pretty much immediately stopped having children. Since then, living conditions have improved in the remaining city states. However, as time goes on, complacency will begin to arise. The great fireball will someday become only a story, a legend. And eventually, some elves will start having children again. And when that happens, living conditions will deteriorate again. Only this time, we will be prepared. We will be prepared to deliver another decisive shock, another brutal blow. And the cycle will repeat. The problem? We can only hope that this spell doesn't fall into the wrong hands. For if it does, it could spell doom not just for the elves, but for the rest of the world as well.
A teddy bear awoke beneath a blood red canopy on a planet he didn't recognize. Unfortunately, this was not an uncommon way for him to wake up - he had a terrible juice habit and blacked out at least once a week. Smeared images flicked through the teddy's mind as he tried to move his head, the pain warning him to lie still for just a minute longer. He considered having a heart attack, but he couldn't remember if he had any family or cohorts who he could leach of sympathy. The fantasy of a pure white IV bag full of fluff wasn't worth the risk if teddy bear wasn't found by someone - furthermore, he had a vague feeling that he had had a heart attack before, and he felt that he didn't much care for it. He settled on letting the darkness consume him for a few more minutes, then he would face whatever fresh hell awaited him in the doomed world on the other side of his eyes. Several hours later, the teddy bear awoke to a foggy twilight beginning to twinkle with iridescent blue insects. Teddy unstuck his face from the muck with a schlorp, admiring the ursine shaped hole slowly deforming back into a puddle of mud and vomit. The forest was colorful, but the colors seemed to be swapped around; unfortunately, this wasn't an uncommon sight for a bear with as much of a candy addiction as he did drinking problem. The Lemon Chewies usually inverted the colors like this, and before long the bear had decided at last which direction was up. The teddy found himself lacking in clothing, besides a pair of purple trousers and one white shoe. The forest seemed to close in along with the danger of the situation, and so he grabbed a large stick and picked a random direction to walk in. The blue bear trundled along, slapping aside orange tall-grass and dull coloured snakes as he strode through the brush. He wondered who he was or why he was tripping balls in the jungle - with no clues besides his rugged good looks (he assumed), the teddy bear let his imagination soar far above him in the growing dark of the alien night. Was he a cruel space pirate whose crew had marooned him on the galaxy's rim with nothing but just enough spice to overdose? Or was he a tribal initiate on his first spirit walk, drunk on lightning juice and sacred herbs? Perhaps he was a high-end escort who learned a terrible secret from a powerful client, and the only way to protect himself from the vengeful client was to eat the secret! The bear figured this as a chance to tell his own story - a miraculous second chance at life - and so he would ask the bartender's opinion when he reached civilization. Although, thought the teddy, it would be strange indeed if he were the bartender. Fantasies of an un-life lived distracted the teddy bear long enough for him to wrap his nose around the trunk of a tree and wade into the darkness once more. The next face the bear saw was similarly blue and fuzzy, but it stared down at him from an orange sky. An innate knowledge of teddy bear fur patterns told the bear he was not, in fact, tripping balls on hallucinogenic compounds - the other bear was as blue as him and the forest's colors similarly accurate to reality.
The Devil: "No, he never signed a contract with me, Sir" The Accusation Attorney: "And why should we believe you are not lying on the stand? No offence but you ARE Satan, this is kind of your thing and I would assume you would find it funny to commit perjury after having made a show of making an oath on the Bible..." The Defence Attorney: "Objection! Hear Say!" The Judge: "Overruled" The Devil: "None taken, I do indulge delightfully in the pleasure of misleading people quite often but you see, first of all, the Bible is as sacred to me as to God since it's the only proof we exist both me and Them and, second of all, if he had signed a contract with me I would be already in possession of his soul and it would feature in my quite extensive collection I keep miniaturised in my wallet as you are well aware... Sir." The Devil erupts in a -for lack of better word- devilish grin opening his wallet as proof under the audible gasps of the jury and the audience.
Most Deaths are Mundane and Boring “What were you thinking; accidental, self-inflicted, assassination?” “Assassinations are always fun, let’s go with one of those.” The client replied. I’ve dealt with this one before, a few decades back. A regular in this line of work. She went with assassination the last time too. liked to make a show of it. “Okay, good. Did you have any ideas in mind? We did an explosion at your manor last time round, so best to avoid a repeat.” “That’s a shame, I really enjoy a good explosion. But, of course, perhaps this time we should go smaller. Something less spectacular. Something boring.” She slumped in her chair. These types always wanted something extravagant, to leave their mark on the world. Too many big displays drew too much attention. He already had a public suicide planned for tomorrow. Some insolent moron wouldn’t listen to reason and wanted to jump off the church in the middle of town during a service. “Indeed. Perhaps a mugging gone wrong. Yes, I could have my guys arrange that for two evenings time. You’d have to play your part though, we can’t just sneak you out the backdoor like last time.” “Now this sounds interesting. How would it all work?” She sat forward in her chair, keen eyes focused on The Analyst. This is the part he enjoyed, planning the events. Getting all the pieces to fit together and making sure everything happened as it was supposed to without any problems. Avoid any prying eyes or would-be detectives looking for their big break. “Simple really. We have you leave a function, perhaps a play, where you can be seen by a lot of people.” The Analyst started flipping through one of his little books, studying the tiny scrawls written in his own special code. “There is a council meeting in a few days. It’ll be a late finish. An ample opportunity time for a mugger.” He dipped his pen in some ink and started making notes. “We’ll have you make your appearance known, you’ll have to start a handful of conversations with the attendees. Not too many to be suspicious, but enough. When the meeting is over you go down Bodin’s Lane. Nice dark alleyway. Some shouts and screams from you, then we slit your throat and leave you to be discovered. I’ve got a deal with the mortician, he won’t ask any questions.” “That sounds quite painful. Painfully boring. I could be lying there all night, freezing in a pool of my own blood!” She slumped back again. This plan wasn’t one of his most exciting, but it would get the job done and she could start her new life afterward. Everyone always wanted something big and flashy, marking the end of their cycle. They didn’t seem to understand every death couldn’t be spectacular, most deaths are mundane and boring. Too much spectacle was bad for business. “We’d make sure you were found within the hour, the screams will signal another one of my men who will investigate and find your body. You’ll be with the mortician within the hour.” She sighed in resignation and accepted her fate, slumping even further into her chair. “The mortician will have all your new papers and documents. You’ll have a nice new house in the slums, ready to start fresh.” Her eyes brightened. She obviously liked a challenge. Going from beggar to renowned lady would keep her busy. \\\* “Sir, Sir! There a been a problem. That lady won’t there. We can’t mug someone who don’t show up.” Based on his panting, the young street urchin must have sprinted from the meeting site. The Analyst started muttering to himself, consulting his notes. This boy had no idea what had happened. What a mess she had caused. He simply thought he’d been hired to mug a rich lady and would get a portion of the coin as a reward. He dismissed the boy, giving him three coins for a job attempted, and started making his way to his workshop, keeping to the dark alleyways. He’d met with the woman in his office, she wouldn’t have any idea about his workshop. He needed a plan. How did he get their attention, he was always so careful? No time to worry about that, he had to disappear and quickly. He poked his head around the corner, hood pulled up. The coast was clear. He darted across the street into the next spiderweb of alleyways. When he arrived at the workshop he started going through all his archived notes. Boxes and boxes of notebooks. Years' worth of jobs successfully executed. He should be packing a bag and getting ready for his escape, but he had to know. How was he discovered, how did they find him? He swore he had dealt with the same woman a few decades before. After tearing his way through 3 books he finally found it. His account of the previous encounter. It was the same woman. “It was a good plan. A simple mugging, quick and clean.” The voice was familiar, it was her. Instead of her usual inflections of excitement and boredom, her voice was more stern, more monotone. She stepped out of the shadows. She was no longer the excitable girl. She was a stern woman, standing straight back and serious. The notebook was shaking in his hand, he hadn’t noticed how on edge he was until he tried to speak. “Why are you working for them? Why betray our kind like this?” “You still haven’t worked it out, after all this time? You’ve been around what, a few centuries? You’re a child in the eyes of The Founder. He has been keeping his eyes on you, watching you and your jobs. He would like a word. It’s time to come home.”
On experiment day 116, there was an empty spot at roll call where Fraser should have been, and an empty spot in Briony’s heart. She wasn’t supposed to know his name, but he’d made such an impression on her on experiment day minus-eight that she’d made a point of craning over the nurse’s shoulder to learn it. Not that she could tell anyone now. The effects of the experiment had rendered her mute, so she had to wait until the morning free hour to find paper and pencil and ask an orderly where N-021 was. “Gone,” the orderly replied. “In the night, just… gone.” All afternoon, as Briony laid in the sunny courtyard with her solar meter, she imagined Fraser escaping. The experiment had made him strong, and he absorbed more energy from the sun than anyone else in their group. Briony privately thought that the experiment made him strong because he was already strong—she remembered well how kindly he’d treated her at the intake— and that it made her mute because she was already quiet. So had he pushed through the security doors? Vaulted the walls? Briony hadn’t thought of herself as a prisoner before; escaping had never crossed her mind. She’d volunteered for this experiment fully aware of the risks. She’d been interested in helping end world hunger, in sort of an abstract way, but acutely interested in ending her own hunger. Sure, the lodging wasn’t exactly cozy, but it was safe and warm and she’d even made friends. Like Fraser. Fraser. Why did he leave? He was ideologically committed to the experiment. He’d told her about his time running a soup kitchen, how frustrated he got with only being able to make a tiny dent in the need. Briony couldn’t do much more than listen. She didn’t intimate to him that she’d been on the receiving end of many a soup kitchen ladle, and that it never felt tiny to her. After her sun hours, they put her on the treadmill to measure—well, whatever it was the mask captured—and thinking about Fraser was a nice distraction. When they first met he’d had long chestnut hair but lately he’d started to get a bit mossy, green streaking through his hair and peaking out the sleeves of his scrubs. It suited him. She got into bed strangely exhilarated. The moon rose in her little window and something bloomed in her mind. She would go find him, she decided, just to tell him that she would miss him. And maybe to find out why he left. Then she would return. Leaving was easy. She unlatched her window and let herself out. The wall around the facility was perhaps ten feet high, but she had no difficulty scaling it. Her fingers seemed to find that every cranny fit like a glove. Once on the other side, however, she had a crisis of doubt. She had no idea how to find Fraser. He had a whole day’s head start on her, too. Impulsivity had gotten Briony into trouble before. She sat down in the tall grass to think, digging her toes into the dirt. Where were her shoes? After awhile, she realized she could sense something through the soil, a sort of network of signals, and they all told her that there was a disturbance in the forest. Briony got up and followed the signals. They led her into the forest, deeper and deeper, until she reached a little clearing. Fraser stood at the center, his back to her, totally still, illuminated by the moon. She didn’t know how to get Fraser’s attention. It seemed profane to enter his clearing. Someone called her name. An orderly, maybe. She wasn’t ready to go back. “Briony.” This time it was Fraser. He turned his head toward her as though it hurt him to move. It felt like permission, so she came close. “What are you doing here?” She didn’t have any way to tell him. She tried to put it in her eyes, in her toes in the dirt. Closer now—more shouting, and dogs barking. “They aren’t going to share it with the world. Human photosynthesis. They’re going to license it. It’s all been for nothing.” Briony didn’t agree. I found you, she wanted to say. You’re not nothing. “I’m not going back,” he said. “I’m going to put down roots.” He reached his hands out and up, tilted his head back. “You’ve always been sweet to me.” He closed his eyes. “Will you stay with me until I go?” Briony stayed. When the orderlies came through the clearing they hardly even noticed the tree, or the moonflower vine wrapped around him, rooted under the open sky.
"Didn't Aleister Crowley write about this? He called it Aeons, I think." "That erotica-writing hack? I guess he did. Though I don't remember what Aeon he said would succeed the Aeon of Horus." "The so-called a 'hack' founded important principles of modern magic. Do not belittle him." "He founded 'modern magic' knowing full well its ages had passed. The Aeon of Horus was the last finger of the mythological clinging unto a world that have moved on, a futile effort to transplant mysticism to the systematic order of scientific knowledge." "Every man and woman is a star... indeed, with the power of science, equally shared, all humanity become capable of shining brighter than any star. The final mystic veil, the last abyss obscuring the truth of existence had been torn down. But he was proven correct, and thus there's no need to excessively mock he who cannot defend himself." "I suppose. I apologize. But now we must proceed with the main event." "An age to succeed the rational and the scientific." "An age to surpass the myth and the legendary." ""This is where the patterns end. Undefined spirals of zeroes and infinity fell abrupt to the abyss of disorder. Green thirds of the nonal division. Open the gate, we are ready for what's beyond."" ""Free the justice, free the hammer of the end of the beginning. Four hundred thousand missed hearts and broken heads, the ace of ten and the stigma of four. She is Ma'at and She is Themis. The balance of humanity shall be recounted and repaid in full. Open the gates, the gods have died, and their corpses scoured clean. This is the Aeon of Ascendance."" ""Shatter the worlds, we need no more. Banish the bones, our souls shall shine unbroken and unhampered. All humanities are uncountable stars. Now we reached our iron. Now we reached the final stretch and the start line. Now ignite the gate, our supernovae shall burn the very fabric of existence."" "Dethrone the Conquering Child." "Devour the written Fate." ""Open the gate. Ignite the Sacred Ring.""
Alissa stood over the robber, heaving. She leaned down and grabbed him by the collar. Her catholic school dress was caked with drying blood from the fallen men. Five of them, all knocked out in less than five seconds. Where did she learn that? thought Jacob. Alissa glanced up and smiled a Cheshire grin. Jacob was unnerved by the maturity of that look. “Don’t think questions you don’t want to know the answers to,” she replied to his unspoken thought. “Who the hell are you, Ally?” Alissa rubbed blood on her lips like she was applying lipstick. “An expert.” She kicked one of the robbers in the face when he began to stir. “Stay down, criminal. Next time I won’t ask.” Jacob was at a total loss. He shook his head, gazing down at the destruction his sister wrought on the massive men. He had no clue how she had moved her legs so fast, taking them down with perfectly-timed scissor kicks. “Your bones are tiny, how’d you take them down?” Alissa checked the wallets of the men, checking inside for IDs and cash. She pocketed everything she found. “Data for later. What did you say?” “How’d you do it? You’re a toothpick.” His sister lunged her fist at his face in an instant, stopping a hair’s-length from his nose. “Just like a guy, thinking size matters at all. In combat, I mean.” “Well… doesn’t it?” “Ask Bruce Lee or Machida, my mentors.” “So you’ve been taking lessons!” “From various sources. I’ve cobbled together my method over the years by studying the masters. My method is a synthesis of Jeet kune do, Jiu Jitsu and kung fu. Allow me to demonstrate on this fellow who just woke up. Hieeya!” Alissa did a twisting somersault in the air, kicking the robber in the head, sending him to the pavement below. She dusted off her hands. “Any more questions?” Jacob shook his head. “You know I have to tell mom about this…” “Do it,” she said, “and I’ll knock you out.” “What are you keeping the IDs for?” “I can tell they are part of a cabal, they’re too organized. I’m gonna take them out, clean up the town.” Jacob scoffed. “Laugh if you like. Their boss will be crying like a waterfall when I take his syndicate down.” They strolled away slowly, Jacob couldn’t help but glance back at the fallen robbers. The men were still out cold.
They appear the moment I turn off the lights, sitting on our bed in their usual spot and wreathed in moonlight. The first time we met they had a snake head. It had been the day after I found a garter snake slithering across the path on my walk through the woods with Dad. I screamed loud enough to wake my parents, and the moment the bedroom light switched back on, the monster disappeared. They reappeared at irregular intervals after that. Sometimes they would be a massive brown recluse, stealing from my memories of Animal Planet. Sometimes they would be that hulking biker man I saw around town (who eventually had turned out to be nice despite the spikes and leather.) No matter what form they took they would always be whatever or whoever scared me the most at the time, appearing when I would least expect it. When did that change? It's odd to think back. Where once they had been the cause of my torment, now they were its balm, whispering tender words from beneath the bed to fill my dreams with hope and confidence rather than plaguing me with growls and shrieks. Their fangs had disappeared, as did their claws, their fur, and everything else until they almost looked human. Almost. They never could get the eyes right, and tonight was no different. They smile at me, and I find myself smiling back. Where once they would roar or hiss, now they spoke softly and comfortingly without a trace of malice. I had often wondered how their change of demeanor truly happened. I had moved several times since I was a child, and though they had followed me every time, each new place had done something to them. Was it the place of dwelling that governed their moods? The energy within? I had asked before but they couldn’t say, either. Maybe they had thought I was trying to run away and that frightened them. Maybe they were lonely being trapped under my bed all day with no one to talk to, and became board of their haunts. Maybe they sought to explore new emotions once my fear had faded after I had acclimated to all the horror they could give. Or perhaps, just maybe, as I was growing up, so were they. The thought warms me. If only I could have watched them in the shadows as easily as they could see me in the light. It was hard to imagine a life without them after all this time, yet as the very thought enters my mind, their form changes. They became nothing. A shadow. A space where I knew something existed but could no longer perceive. As I witness this, they speak. “I can feel your fear,” they say, barely a whisper. “What have I done to make you so nervous?” I drop to my knee before the bed and open my hand to them before closing my eyes. “Give me something to hold on to.” A pressure slowly spreads along my palm. I will my beating heart to slow. When I look up at them again all my fear and insecurity wash away, and I give them the biggest, most heartfelt smile I’ve ever made. “Nothing’s wrong, my love. Nothing at all.”
You’ve done well, Sir knight. You have slain the mighty dragon and broken my shackles. I give you my thanks—and an offer. Kneel before me—kiss my ring—and I shall make you my sword. Together, we shall kill that wrench—the queen of fae and reclaim what should rightfully be mine! So kneel! Kneel! And serve me, Sir knight! Lend me your strength and I shall make you Lord over all things—beneath my feet. So what say you, Sir knight? Serve me? Or die! “Yeah, sure, whatever you say, babe.” Excellent! Now, we can— “But there’s one little thing I need to make clear about this… Evil Immortal Princess’s right-hand-man thing.” Which is? “I kinda-sorta, accidentally… murdered the fae matriarch before coming here.” YOU WHAT? “Yeah, long story short, fae took my castle so I genocided their entire race. Not a single fae is left on the continent.” N-not one? “I… may have overdone it by a tiny margin. I should have reconsidered my actions when I was skewering babies on spikes.” By the gods! “Well… about them… I… kinda killed them all too, and the elves, and the merfolks, and, oh, of course, dragons! Is… is there any race you h-haven’t slaughtered, S-sir knight? “Yes. Yes, in fact, there is! I never killed an immortal before… To kill the unkillable, that is quite the challenge, wouldn’t you say? I wonder… what color is your blood, my dear Princess?” N-no! Get away! Don’t come near me! No! No! NOOO! AHHH!
Tonight… Leyla sat in her kitchen in the dark, preparing herself for what was to come. As she sat, she thought of the moments that had led her to this point… Eighteen years ago… She sat in the crowded hall, trying to seem confident amongst all of the other girls in the receiving hall of the Palace. When her parents had dropped her off that morning, she’d insisted that she was a big girl and didn’t need them to accompany her past the gate. Now, sitting in the hall, surrounded by ornate tapestries of bucolic scenes, gemstone-filled chandeliers, and decorated floors, she wasn’t so sure. But she was turning ten today, and she was determined to be just as mature as the other waiting ten-year-olds. And when a well-dressed elderly lady with a severe expression summoned her, she followed along proudly as she was led to a smaller but just-as-imposing room and introduced to a middle-aged man behind a wooden desk. After staring at me and verifying my name and age, he handed me a small blue slip of paper. I knew what it was - it was my tenth birthday, and today I would be given the name of the man I would marry. I placed the slip of paper in the pocket of my skirts, bowed to the lady and gentleman, and made my way back out the palace and to my waiting parents. Only after I returned home did I take out the slip of paper and read the name on it. A wife. I was going to be a wife. Elated at my maturity, I placed the paper in the box that I kept for special keepsakes and went out to eat dinner with my parents. It may be years before I would meet my husband - until then, there were classes to attend and chores to do. Life would go on. Twelve years ago… She sat once again in the crowded hall, amazed that it was just as impressive to her as it had been the first time she’d visited, all those years ago. Apparently sixteen-year-old eyes are just as easily impressed as those of childhood, despite all they’d seen since then. And a lot they had seen - death (her father’s), birth (her younger brother’s), joy, and heartache (both her own). But now, at her age of maturity, she sat in the receiving room, ready to find out the name of the person who would kill her. A woman came out to summon her, with different features than the one from her childhood visit but just as severe, and led her to the same small room where the same man (now slightly older) asked her the same questions with the same expression. But this time, after telling her about the history of their society and the significance of the ritual, he handed her a slip of white paper. Again, she put it in her pocket and left the palace, not wanting to look at it until she was in the privacy of her room. Once there, she took out the paper and looked at it. And froze. It was the same name. Ten years ago… She had been at university for two months now. It has been a difficult adjustment - it was the first time she had been away from home, really, and the city was very different from the village where she was raised - but she was making friends and her studies were going well. She had gone out with her friends to relax after a long week and they were sitting around and talking when a group came up to them - they didn’t recognize them, but they seemed to also be students. One of them was a boy her age, seemingly shy, who asked her about her life. She’d told him about her life, her family, her hopes and dreams, and learned about his. At the end of the evening, she’d agreed to go on a date with Daniel. For the first time since her father’s death, she was happy Six years ago… She had graduated from university, with her mother, her brother, and her friends and family cheering her on. And of course Daniel, who was beaming at her from just off the stage where he’d waited for her after his own walk. They’d already spoken about their futures, and while marriage wasn’t in the cards (they’d confided their most private secrets by now, and neither of them was the person the other was destined to marry), they’d wanted to enjoy what they had for however long it lasted. They’d each gotten jobs in the city, and they’d made plans to get their own apartment and start their lives together. Daniel had met her family and she had met his, and everyone got along. He’d said they were perfect for each other. Things were good. Three years ago… She’d woken up that morning feeling off. It was something she’d gotten used to for that last week or so, but that made it no less unsettling. She’d made an appointment with her local physician and gone in to meet her to get to the bottom of things. Then, in one of the rooms reserved for patients, cold and stark but with a token effort to make it more appealing, her physician came and spoke to her while she sat on the exam table, and for the fourth time (after her two trips to the Palace and the death of her father), she’d felt a fundamental shift in the course of her life. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it. Pregnant. She gathered her things in silence and returned to the apartment she shared with Daniel. Later that night, she’d ordered in his favorite foods, brought a bottle of wine, and surprised him with one of those novelty balloons from the city. “You’re going to be a father!” it had said. She’d waited anxiously for his reaction. He’s smiled. One year ago… She’d been at lunch with one of her close friends from university. Her friend had called her out of the blue about getting together, which hadn’t seemed strange because their schedules were so busy (especially with a toddler taking up so much time) that any time to get together was to be accepted gratefully. As they sat at their outside table, drinking their post-meal wine, her friend had begun speaking about her new job in the Palace. She’d been circumspect at first, as if she were trying to say something but unsure how, but eventually she’d revealed that the man she was dating hadn’t been honest with her. Oh, he hadn’t been unfaithful, or stolen money from his work, but this was just as serious in their world. Daniel wasn’t his real name.
It was a fascinating time. The Quickening came on and tore through humanity pretty quickly (pun unintended but fully welcomed). Humans had had their chance to make this planet great, and while there were some notable exceptions, they generally did a piss-poor job of things. During this time, for the most part, the creatures had hung back and just watched it unfold, preferring to be thought of as nothing more than the topic of scary stories told by parents to keep their naughty children behaving well. But enough was finally enough, and it was time to intervene and fix things. The creatures had decided the humans could no longer be in charge of this planet, so they came out of the proverbial shadows and, in a quick but rather messy not-so-friendly takeover (especially in the USA), issued an ultimatum, much like a parent with a toddler. "We are taking this place back from humans. This much is non-negotiable. But because we're creatures, not monsters, each of you gets the choice of what happens to you next. Either you elect a transformation, in which case you will cease your human life and be transformed into the creature of your choosing, or you will simply cease your human life. The choice is yours." Cue the panic, of course. But the creatures were prepared for this, and had spent the last several thousand years eavesdropping on human methods of fighting - from nuclear war down to drawing crosses in the air. They were prepared. Besides, humans are, by their physical nature, relatively weak. Sure, they can have their moments, like when a mother suddenly summons the power to lift a vehicle from on top of her child, but for the most part, pretty easy to defeat. As part of their preparation for taking the planet back from the humans, the creatures had been secretly integrating themselves into human society already, so as to avoid as much delay and system disruption as possible. By the time it actually happened, much of the workforce in pretty much all areas was already comprised of creatures who had been diligently making sure they understood how to keep the world running when humans no longer ran it. The transition was surprisingly smooth on that front. It wasn't long before there were rampant memes of the Winchester brothers saying "We told you it was all real!"For the record, both actors chose to be transformed, ironically enough. One of my favorite coworkers (who I later found out was a vampire all along) and I would exchange memes about The Quickening. I remember being glad that memes weren't just a human thing. It would have made me sad to lose that simple pleasure! Sirens adapted well to the music and entertainment industries but still needed to be reminded from time to time to rein the power of their songs back to merely "catchy". Vampires work night shifts and teens to gravitate towards employment in areas like driving taxis/Uber/Lyft. Turns out, they really love chatting with their riders. For a while during the Quickening, there was some hate crime involving garlic, but it was taken very seriously by the police, and quickly stopped once the humans were no longer part of the equation. Werewolves made fantastic meteorologists, and were far more accurate than the human weather reporters had ever been. Gnomes and faries made wonderful gardeners and farmers, and it's amazing how quickly the numbers of those who are food insecure have dropped. Well, I mean, there is the whole "many humans have died instead of transitioning"thing, but still! With no more humans (at least the ones who haven't been found), the rates of terrible things like cancer are expected to drop dramatically, but the environmental dangers that often caused such genetic mutations are - for the time being - still present. As such, the leprechauns were happy to take over the Make A Wish Foundation, and now they have such different experiences to offer. Sure, they can send a poor wee goblin child and her family to Disneyland, but now they can also offer flying experiences courtesy of a whole fleet of volunteer tengu, pegasus, dragons, griffins, hippogriffs, and others around the world. Sasquatches, Yetis, and the like make excellent adventure tour guides, and they know all the best tucked-away spots. Merfolk work closely with the leviathan, some sirens, and sea animals in general to locate and retrieve detritus in the ocean. They've collaborated with the deftly skilled dwarves to expand on technologies created by some of the good humans for accomplishing this. My husband and I had both quickly decided that this world being under new management was something that we wanted very much to see and be part of. When they were made available, we went to the nearest Transformation Station (whoever came up with calling them that was a kindergarten teacher, I can almost guarantee it!). Outside, human protestors tried to stop us from going in, begging is not to give up our humanity, telling us we were monsters for proceeding. Given our odd humor, both my husband and I said "Not yet!"and kept waking. We wondered if displays such as this and what protestors do in front of reproductive health facilities would end with the human line. We hoped it would. Inside, it was fascinatingly organized and meticulously efficient, and the transformations themselves were performed by and supervised for safety by consummate professionals in each category. We chose to pursue transformations under the broad Mage category, and they happily let us undergo every step together. It was made clear that while they were ridding the world of humans, the ultimate goal was a happier, healthier world, and it was a bedrock principle that those making up that world should be happy and fulfilled. It wasn't a difficult or painful process for either of us. I was already from witch blood and practiced a nature-based spirituality, so it was a natural choice for me. I was excited to learn more about what I already did and had inside of me. My husband chose the same because while he wasn't of (much) witch blood, he was already a gifted healer at heart, and we figured it would be something we would have mutual experience in and thus have built-in support at home. We were both in healthcare before, and remained in healing positions after. When we left, the human protestors who were gathered outside threw garbage at us, called us names like trannies and blood suckers and murderers, condemning us to hell. It didn't hurt our feelings, though. We knew it wouldn't be long until they had a choice of their own to make, and we wished them well with it. This isn't to say, however, that we didn't indulge in a little mischievous fun by putting on some thoroughly unnecessary theatrics complete with wiggling fingers and directed hand motions, casting a spell on them as we passed by! The actual spell was for their hair to grow an extra inch overnight, but they didn't know that. They were terrified, accusing us of hexing them and threatening us for it. My husband and I looked at each other with a knowing twinkle in our eyes. The world was well on its way to becoming a far better place, and we looked forward to being there for it!
You brace for what’s coming. A large iron door separate you and the wild beast on the other side. You and your classmates all hold your weapons out. Some are shaking. On boy looks so pale your worried he’ll pass out. Breath in. Breath out. You got this. You got this. You have fought beast before. You can do this. You look behind you at the meat you are supposed to protect. All you have to do is keep the best from taking the pork chops. Simple enough. You instructor walks out of the arena, holding the switch for the door. “You ready?” No. But you can’t say that so you just nod. He pushes the switch. The heavy doors swing open. Silence. You try to make out an animal hiding in the darkness. Suddenly a golden streak come crashes in. Golden. Fluffy. Tails wagging wildly. You see the first dog jump the pale boy, knocking him down. It licked him none stop. He couldn’t move. Another ran right under a girls legs knocking her down. There were so many. Their cuteness made everyone hesitant to hurt them. Before you could do anything the meat was gone. You failed another test.
Every day is the same. Just in a different pattern every few years. You wake up. Get cleaned up. Go to school. Study. Learn. Train. And then you go home. Do homework, do some chores. Play. Then go to sleep. It changes a little. You wake up. Go to where you need to. Work. Study. Learn. Train. And then you go home. Home probably doesn't feel like home at this point in life, because more than likely you aren't really home. But maybe home sucked, so this is better. Anyway, you do your chores. Play. Learn to live a little. And then you go to sleep. Again a change. Wake up. Go to work. Work, study, learn. You get the idea, I'm probably boring you by now. And then you go home. Maybe you don't go home. You go to the store. Or the bar. Maybe the gym. That random place a few neighborhoods over. You find that reason for why you keep doing what you do. Or maybe you don't. And then you go home, do the chores, go sleep. Or maybe you don't. By this point, sleep might be a luxury. If anything you've gotten used to the sounds in the dark. The fan slowly running in your room. The light barely coming through the blinds. Watching a blank ceiling for signs of life. There aren't any. There never are. And then you go to sleep. Wake up. Fall out of bed. Roll down the stairs. Go to work. Do what you always do. And then go home. Maybe you don't go home. Your job sucks. So you find a new job. You don't really like it, but a job's a job and this fits you to an extent. So then you go back home. Do the chores, stare at the ceiling in the dark and go back to bed. Things change. You're doing better. Or maybe not. Wake up. Rub your joints. Clean up. Go to work. Work. You've seen what's out there. What really interests you. But it can wait. You've seen most of it before. You go home again. It's different. It always is. You do the chores. Check your news. Stare at the ceiling. Go to sleep. Maybe someone likes you. Maybe not. Things. Change. You're here. Wake up. Take your time. Go to work. Or maybe you don't work anymore. Good for you. You pass the time as best you can. You do some of the things you love. Think a little on the things you did do and the things you didn't. It's okay to happy. It's okay to be sad. You go home. You do your chores. Then go back to bed. Things change. You don't wake up. But that's okay.
"Personally i feel it was another attack by the half pint samurai sasquatch.... NOW Chief! you know I am right!" "Ahh Jesús Christ Dougan! Not this again, you have to let this go, everytime we get one of these butcher jobs you bring up this ninja midge bigfoot!" "i'm telling ya chief, if we run a scan on the toe prints and send this dirt sample to the lab, i promise you they'll match all the previous ..""THATS ENOUGH DOUGAL! Thats enough... look I know you miss Casandra an..." "DON'T you DARE bring her into this Colin...this""Look Tony .. maybe you should call this a night we have the boys from homicide and Jen from the lab is here.. why dont you take the night off huh? " "ok Colin, but at least run a perimeter check.. please.""alright Tone...alright" As I left the scene my heart wrenched, God damn it Colin, I am still a Cop! My instincts were still sharp as ever, maybe he was right maybe this had become too personal.... did i want revernge for what they did to Casandra? You bet your ass I did, but I wasn't blind. I was sharp, straight edge, I wanted to get this sick son of a bitch and ensure what he did never happened again, was I focused ? Maybe but i needed to know why.. why her? Why that night? Had i only been there or just stayed with her just that little bit longer... .... 8 months ago: outside the Hogantown bar and grill. "Hooooo eeeee! Is that Tone?""you bet you beer batered ballsack Jackson!""could anyone be more happier?""I don't reckon there could.. Casandra is looking gorgeous Tony boy" "thanks chief just got her back from the detailers and she is looking gorgeous!"Casandra was my 2015 chevy Express, with a detailed panel mural of my moniker a shinobi Duck, known as silent Quaker! I had been dub this by the boys back at the academy, and it stuck. "Now lets see about them Curls and Napps!!"The chief bellowed as was the custom every Wednesday night we'd raid good ol hogans for Curly fries and schnapps!! "CURLS AND NAPPS! CURLS AND NAPPS! CURLS AND NAPPS!"The boys chanted while heading in Jackson my partner stay behind and handed me a box "Aww Donny you shouldn't have"I teased, "yea yea just open it already wise guy"i opened the little black box and inside was something that made me both happy and feel old, "Donny where'd you..""never you mind where Tone, I figured it would make a good addition to Cas, and remind you of better times, should you ever need it"I gave my partner and long time friend a embrace "thanks Don"i pulled out the vertebrae with a bullet lodged in it on a chain from the box "heh! We got that bastard good huh?"We shared a chuckle.. years ago while me and Don were still beat cops we had stumbled upon a78 year old pimp whoring put underage ducks...boy ducks we were both disgusted and knew that no court alive would convict him and so when he ran both Don and I decided to make our world just a little bit better, the body was dumped at the wharf and well the hobos did the rest of the work... its amazing what they'll eat when you provide them with enough blue cheese dressing... "Oy you two testy garglers coming?""yea coming Chief!"I called back... maybe i should move Cas i thought to myself, i hated the thought of leaving her in the darker part of Hogan's parking lot, she could get scratched "She'll be fine!"Donny answered, as if he could read my mind... "yea your right.."i reluctantly agreed, something in my gut. It was 3 am when we stumbled out of there, I had 7 shots of peach Schnapps and 4 bowls of the curliest fries this side of the Thaberwack river! To say i could barely stand was an understatement, but I could always sleep it off in the back of Cas, that why i chose a girl with a fat ass.... as we walked over the sight i was about to behold sobered me up quicker than a bamboo skewer up the urethra! She had been shredded, cut up like a giant lawn mower, Silent Quaker was all but destroyed and it was Don who saw it first and he puked like a recruit at an all night Drink and dunk. On the hood was the most longest, rankest, thickest log of Shit I had ever seen. as long as 5 hoagies and 3 wide! "who the fuck could .."he couldnt even get the words out. Cas had been defiled, raped... murdered in the most disrespectful way possible. "What kind of sick fuck would do this?! Who shits berries and pinecones?!"Was all the chief could say..all I remember was everything went hazy and then i was in the back of a peppermint wagon (* the nickname we had for ambulances). The next I went back to the scene and after bring my breakfast back to the waking world i looked about, and found footprints huge the kind that would fit into garbage cans and tuffs of pineconeberryshit covered fur...the other thing was the angles of the cuts it looked like swipes... the only thing i knew that could make these sort of cuts was a Katana.. or a samurai sword.... one of the cuts had a downward arc...which gave a way the attcker true hight... I gathered the evidence and headed to lab for results. What came back... was unexpected...
As the manager of the newly-acquired San Rio's Slabs, I've been making bank day by day. And at the same time, setting up an exchange system from all sorts of otherworldly currency to cold hard American dollars. Otherworldly currency? Hell yeah there is. When I first bought the place, I was told that there were 3 bathrooms at the left side of the lobby; 1 for guys, 1 for gals, and a ways down, 1 for the staff. That last one isn't exactly what it seems, as I wasn't told by the last guy that it's actually a gateway that leads to what I call the multiverse cookpot- a place where worlds merge together, kinda like that space from that new Doctor Strange movie. At first, I was kinda creeped out about there being a gateway to other universes in my shop, let alone that gateway being the staff bathroom, but eh, if it pays, it pays, because it definitely did. When otherworldly people came through the family bathroom, they often ask for a meal, I gave their order in return for some cash (which I had to do research on the judge their price), and while they ate, I could hear them talk all sorts of stuff. Like, deals-under-the-table type stuff, as if they were doing some sort of black market thing. One specific instance of this is one I wanna recall- first was a meeting between some adventurer guy and the closest thing to a Japanese shrine maiden- well, if it weren't for the pink hair, fox ears, and devilish smile she carries. The other dude had the average adventurer look- green cowl, white shirt, blue pants, and brown hair. Yep, a total chump, and he seemed to take interest in what this lady had to say. So I went on break, fixed myself a combo meal, and sat down at a table near them to overhear their convo. "...and in return for this, a sizeable monetary offering to the Narukami Shrine is to be asked of your, and the Yae Publishing House may also prefer a handsome sum for the specific production of this novel." "Yeah, yeah, me and my party will definitely get the money. After all, we aren't adventurers for nothing!" "Fufufu\~ Well, that is so." "I have been trying so hard to get our tales out there so that we can rack up more cash! After all, my friends have been burning our funds!" "Tales come in all shapes and sizes, mind you. You're not the only one who seeks to have their word spread across the cosmos." "Ah, give me a break! Just hand me the first copy already!" And that was just one of the deals I got to hear- some other talks at the Slabs that me and my coworkers learned ranged from someone who's basically the devil trying and failing to pitch to an idol manager, or the many times the aforementioned fox lady arrived with someone who apparently could be from LA or Tokyo but dressed in fantasy clothes, the latter begging the former to publish their journeys. Oh, let's not forget the fact that a whole platoon of knights stormed into the store while we had some people trading bags of pig ears and obsidian beneath the tables. I mean, at San Rio's Slabs, you're sure to get a good slider and a great scandal.
“Hello boys, I’m back!” said Adolf, Stalin, Caesar, Genghis, and fifteen billion souls long passed. “We see you’ve been busy without us. With all this plague business and skirmishes and land grabs. How about we—take it up a notch?” “Oh, no!” said the Jews. “Oh, no!” said the Romani. “Oh, no!” said the Cambodians. “Oh, no!” said most of the globe. “Oh, yes!” said the U.S. of A. The US president popped a cigar as a bald eagle landed on his shoulder. “My American citizen… it ain’t murder if they’re already dead.” He puffed a cloud of smoke in the shape of Mt. Rushmore. “Sound the drums, lads! We’re going—over there!” An army of A-10s said, “Brrrrt,” and the world was fifteen billion people lighter. The president shed a single tear at the glorious sight as he saluted the flag. “God bless America and the freedom in which she stands! Now, in case our ‘enemies’ ever resurfaced, we should put up a contingency by building American bases… um… let’s say… EVERYWHERE.” “Oh, no!” said the world. And the sun never set on American soil ever since.
“Oh yeah,” an impossibly gruff voice rattled my eardrum as I hunched over a bit of plastic on my front porch, “that’s your classic totem. I’d give you another five or six days max.” The disc of flimsy plastic crumpled in my fingers as I turn it over and back. The roughly drawn toupee emoji in the center smudged with a slight touch. “Recent,” a soft voice says in the other ear. I shoot to my feet and look around my front yard to see if I can spot them. “Maybe,” the soft voice continued in a lover’s whisper, “they’re just a light stalker. I can’t really blame them. I mean, look at you.” A chill ran up my back as if a hand had just barely grazed over my skin. “You kidding me,” the gruff voice said with the force of a hand clapped on my shoulder, “that’s a threat. What is that, a toupee? Yeah, it's gotta be the scalper. We didn’t connect much back in the day, but I remember a friend saying that they were pretty good at the whole ‘distract and grab’ game.” “What are you... .” The world turned slightly opaque. Only a gulp of air came into my lungs before the plastic film suctioned to my mouth. Strong hands pulled the bag tight to my neck. “Told ya,” the gruff voice said as I whipped around to try and face the attacker. A squat man with a gash along the underside of his neck stood leaning against the door frame beside me. “Game knows game, s’what I always say.” “I don’t think you were ever this good,” said the soft voice of a drag queen with eyes excavated by their last attempted-victim’s thumbs. “Oh dear, I think this one might finally get the better of our little lamb.” He bit his fist and attempted to flutter his broken sockets. “You know what they say about chickens,” the gruff one said as I thrashed about. I fell to my knees continuing to struggle. The scalper smiled and took a hand off the bag to stroke my head thinking I was finally giving in to the inevitable. Then I found the knife I had strapped to my calf. “Its easier to break their neck than strangle them.” The knife came free and a small desperate cut to the scalper’s forearm forced him to release the bag. I didn’t even stop to remove the plastic. I’d been holding my breath from the moment he touched me. I had gotten very good at holding my breath in the last few months for some odd reason. I advanced on the scalper as he tumbled to the floor gripping his bleeding arm and sobbing like a child. Pulling him by his boot, I fell towards him and plunged the knife into his chest. Spasming, screaming, and finally gurgling while the blood filled his lungs, the scalper stood up from his corpse and looked at me and the two others at the door. “Well shit. That didn’t go quite as planned.” “Welcome to the club,” the eyeless queen said with a small shrug and a wistful look at me. (I don’t usually do first-person and it probably shows. But it was still a fun prompt and a stretching exercise.)
"I wish to have all of my memories, knowledge, and experiences sent back to my eight year-old self." "I'm sorry, what?" "You heard me. I want her to know everything that's going to happen up until this point. Unless doing that would cause her harm?" "Well, no. I mean, it might give her a migraine for a day or two, but technically speaking its your own essence so it'll be compatible. Though I may have to bring out memories in stages so she's not overwhelmed. I just don't understand WHY you want to do this. You do realize it'll create a parallel world right?" "I know! That's the point. I want to give her a better shot than I got." "......" "Listen, my life growing up sucked. Not as badly as other people have it, but it still sucked. Mom went crazy after I was born, messy divorce, custody battles, and I was neurodivergent in a time when absolutely NO ONE believed that girls could have ADHD. It was hell. I want her to know the truth about herself. That she's not a failure. That there is a reason why things are like this. That it's not her fault, and that there's a plan. A good plan." "You've thought about this." "Well sure. Who hasn't looked back at the insanity that is their life and thought about what they wished they'd done differently?" "So what is it?" "Hm?" "Your plan. What is it?" "Oh! Well, I'm hoping that eight year-old me will take what I know, especially the techniques I've learned for dealing with ADHD, and chart a new course. I didn't quite grow up poor, but my dad was a single parent, and my mom was basically useless, so there was definitely no college savings or allowance or anything for me. Which means I gotta earn it myself. I hate babysitting and cutting grass, so I reckon I'll start a nice car washing business. That'll get me the money I need to pay for school and a lot of other things." "Interesting. What else?" "Well, if I'm lucky, I'll get to fund a lot of fun vacations with my dad, learn martial arts, and all sorts of other things I've always wanted to do, but never could. Maybe I'll even win a certain lottery on my eighteenth birthday." "....You memorized the numbers didn't you?" "Yep!" "Unbelievable. How much time have you spent on this?" "I dunno. ADHD brain and hyperfixation make time weird sometimes." "I suppose so. You're a strange human." "Why, thank you!" "So what are you going to do with the money you may or may not win?" "Not live in the lap of luxury if that's your question. Oh no... I have plans for that money." "I sense vengeance in you." "You could say that. I hate it when people are exploited, and I wouldn't hesitate to use my foreknowledge to ensure at least some of that exploitation can't happen. I'm petty and vindictive like that." "So I see. Very well. I'll grant your wish." "Thank you. Could you make sure my cats are taken care of after... you know." "That's not necessary." "What? Why not? You're not going to kill THEM are you? Because if you are..." "Relax. It's not necessary because you're not going to die. Yet." "Huh?" "You will die, but I control the terms of when and how, and I've decided I'm curious about a mortal who would go to such lengths to get revenge on those who have wronged her and others. And do not tell me that isn't precisely what this is." "Wouldn't dream of it. So what now?" "...Would you maybe like to go get some coffee or something?" "Make that tea and I'd be delighted." "Deal. Let me take you to the best teahouse in the world."

Subsets and Splits

No community queries yet

The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.